


It's Only Forever

by whyyesitscar



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albumfic set to Beyonce's "4" CD. Brittana's journey from the summer after S2 through season three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1+1

**Author's Note:**

> Canon compliant until 3x21, "Nationals."

_(and it’s me and you, that’s all we’ll have when the world is through)_

It started off as a joke.

Obviously Brittany and Santana each bought a copy of “4” by Beyoncé the day it came out. (Brittany bought an actual CD because she liked to have them as reminders, which Santana thought was adorably quaint and quirky).

They’d been eager to get the album because Brittany wanted to dance and Santana wanted to watch her dance, but it turned out to be a little bit cheesier than they’d expected. Not in a bad way. It just threw them for a loop. It’s all about making an impression on the world; about really feeling everything; about being so damn present for every moment of your life, even the bad ones. Basically, it’s a CD about the person that Brittany makes Santana want to be.

If she’s being honest, Santana really, really loves the whole album. Loves it in the way that she couldn’t stop listening to it even if she wanted to. Loves it in the way that every song makes her think about Brittany, and think about her like how Santana’s dad looks at her mom sometimes when they don’t know Santana’s watching. Her parents aren’t always nice to each other, but they are always companions. Listening to this album makes Santana want to be Brittany’s companion.

And it’s a scary thing because they’ve just lost Nationals and they’re both still smarting from the freaky love triangle that never should have happened, because in what world does Santana lose to Optimus Prime?

(Santana shakes her head and frowns the slightest bit, because she knows what world that is. It’s the same world where she always loses to Artie because he isn’t terrified of being a companion).

When Brittany asks her a week later what her favorite song is, Santana pauses for a moment. There are safe options, like “Run the World” or “Love on Top,” and then there’s the truth. And it would be so easy to lie, even though Santana hates doing it, especially when it comes to Brittany. Still, she’s done it before and she could do it again.

But the pause is when Santana remembers that she’s spent practically the whole year lying to and about Brittany, and it sucked so much for both of them. It hurt really bad, and even though they’re still not as explicitly together as she knows Brittany wants (and really it’s what Santana wants, too—one of these days she’ll admit that), she’d much rather stay here than go back to that kind of dejection.

So she rolls her eyes at Brittany’s goofy smile and tells the truth. “1+1.”

She’s expecting a glint in Brittany’s eyes, the one that pierces through her and says _I know every inch of you, Santana Lopez_. That’s why Santana hesitated in the first place.

Instead, Brittany scrunches up her nose and smiles. “Really? I think she kinda sounds weird on that one.”

“Are you insane? Her voice is amazing.”

“Well, obviously, but she’s, like, yelping at the end of the verses.” Santana opens up her mouth to protest, but Brittany rattles off an over-the-top imitation, and from that moment on, it’s a joke. Brittany yelps the verses and Santana can never, ever stop herself from laughing. It’s always funny every time Brittany does it, even if the rest of the Pierces don’t think so. Santana knows she should be annoyed because it’s kind of a dumb thing to laugh at, but Brittany’s face is just so silly and perfect and adorable, and those are always three reasons Santana laughs at anything. So she can’t really stop herself this time.

Brittany giggles like a child who knows she’s hilarious, and Santana indulges her every time. It’s her kryptonite, that giggle.

(But in the back of her mind, she’s still waiting for that glint. Santana meant it when she said this song was her favorite. It’s so simple and truthful and it pulls at her heart. It’s the kind of song that Santana used to hate hearing because it’s so intimate and personal. It’s the kind of song that Santana would think about in the middle of sleeping with Puck or Finn or whoever else, and she would feel guilty.

But now—now that Santana can listen to it and feel hopeful and loved, like maybe someday she won’t be so terrified, and maybe that some day will come soon—it really is her favorite song).

There is one night late in July that changes everything. It’s a small difference, just a start really, but even big things were ‘just a start’ once, right?

It’s past midnight and she and Brittany are resting on Santana’s bed. Santana is on her computer and it takes her a minute or two to realize that Brittany’s eyes have started drooping. She stops shopping for shoes and watches Brittany fight sleep. Brittany tries to hold onto her book, but it drops in her grip. Santana giggles and catches it before it smacks Brittany on the nose. She closes her computer quietly and snuggles up next to her girl.

It’s that perfect kind of night where instead of being muggy and humid, the breeze is cool and light as it blows through the window, and Santana squeezes Brittany closer when she sees her shoulders shiver. She rests her nose against Brittany’s neck and smiles—Santana only gets to be the big spoon when Brittany falls asleep first. She takes this unexpected opportunity to reacquaint herself with Brittany’s grace.

She smiles at the freckles on her shoulder. She breathes in the scent of Brittany when she’s sleeping—she smells like warmth and vanilla and if happiness ever had a smell, there would be a little bit of that in there, too.

It’s just that little moment that changes things. It’s kind of a soft click in Santana’s mind, an ‘oh’ with the tiniest of exclamation points. It’s like someone finally answered a question that Santana had been puzzling over for years, and they did so with such perfect words and in this way that ensured Santana would never forget the answer again. One moment Santana is drooling over the new Christian Louboutins and then all of a sudden she realizes that Brittany is forever. She knows it like she knows she loves shoes, which is probably why it takes her a while to really be aware of it. You don’t exactly go around every day actively thinking about how much you adore a great pair of pumps. It’s just a simple, unchangeable fact.

Everyone looks good in a pair of red heels.

(And she’ll love Brittany forever.)

It’s simple and honest and it pulls at her heart, breaking the string that told her to feel ashamed about loving Brittany. That’s the night that Santana stops feeling guilty.

Instead, she feels peaceful. She brushes a lock of hair from Brittany’s cheek and finds her peace written all over the blonde’s face. Santana feels her heart expand until it’s all that’s left of her insides. She places a kiss underneath Brittany’s ear and starts to sing quietly. (Sometimes, even her body can’t contain her heart and it spills out of her mouth in melodies and words. It happens a lot when she and Brittany are alone).

_"Baby we ain't got nothin' without love_   
_and you've got enough for the both of us..."_

Brittany’s giggle is sleepy and low. “You’re totally singing _on_ me, San. That tickles.”

Santana continues, undeterred because her heart just won’t stop growing. _“Make love to me when my days look low, pull me in close and don’t let me go_.”

Brittany must sense a change because she always does and because she turns over to look at Santana, her face no longer tired or joking. This is her searching face, the one that Santana usually hides from.

(There is a glint hovering on the horizon, and this time Santana is ready for it).

“Any reason you’re singing this song to me?” Brittany’s question is casual, but her eyes are serious.

“I’m not singing it to you,” Santana says before she really realizes how it sounds.

“Oh.”

Santana is quick to correct herself. “No, um. Not like that. I mean…” She pauses, trying to find the perfect words to answer the question that Brittany’s asked her for years. Santana reaches in between them and pulls Brittany’s hand up, kissing her fingers softly.

“I mean,” she continues, her voice quieter than she intended, “that I’m not _just_ singing to you.” She takes a deep breath. “This…this is me asking, Brittany.”

“Oh! Santana…”

It’s just a small change. A gentle nudge, a tiny click.

A vital, perfect ‘oh.’


	2. I Care

_(I need you to tell me this is love)_

Brittany is pretty sure she doesn’t listen to music like most people do. She doesn’t really care about the words that much, or even the melody. She sort of listens for the beats and her legs always twitch and fidget unconsciously, but mostly she listens to a song for the feelings. That’s why she likes a lot of different music. She likes all the trashy pop because it makes her happy. It makes her feel jazzed and silly and in control because this is the kind of music that brings out her best dancing. But she likes songs with acoustic guitars too, because they’re usually really calming. Those are the kinds of songs that Brittany listens to after Cheerios practice or running or sex with Santana. Because _damn_ , that girl can get her worked up.

And sometimes, when she’s frustrated with Santana for being the same way she always is; when she’s frustrated with herself for still wanting to help and for forgiving so quickly; when she frowns because she really hates cold sheets that should be warm—that’s when she listens to the sad acoustic songs. Or maybe ones with slow, yearning pianos that Rachel would probably tell her were in a minor key but Brittany wouldn’t be able to concentrate on account of Tina bawling her eyes out.

Brittany has a whole playlist of sad songs. She doesn’t listen to them to make herself sad, but if she’s already feeling like that, she might as well listen to pretty music, right? Her mom tells her that it’s weird and she shouldn’t let herself dwell, but Brittany can’t seem to stop. She knows it’s strange, but it’s like…Brittany has always believed in feelings. Not just recognizing them and accepting them, but the actual act of _feeling_ them. She doesn’t know how to feel her feelings other than to just completely immerse herself in them. It’s why, when she’s happy, she’s happier than anyone else.

(No one, save for Santana and Brittany’s family, ever really stops to think about what that means when Brittany gets sad.)

Lately though—ever since Glee Club, really—Brittany has been paying more attention to words. Maybe it’s because of Mr. Schue’s ridiculous assignments, or the fact that Rachel probably couldn’t sing something that wasn’t meaningful even if Barbra Streisand told her to. But whatever the reason, words are suddenly really important. It’s really cool that she can find a song that expresses her feelings in words she didn’t have to come up with herself. Brittany has problems with words sometimes. She knows what she’s feeling, she just doesn’t always know how to tell other people about it. And then it comes out silly and stupid, but Brittany knows her feelings aren’t silly or stupid. That’s just the best way she knows to explain them. So it’s really nice that she can listen to music and realize that people like Ke$ha and Adele and Whitney have already found the perfect words and Brittany doesn’t have to do so much.

So when Santana is the one to suggest singing “Landslide” together, Brittany puts the song on repeat and just listens for hours. She already knew it because Santana has an almost-unhealthy appreciation for Fleetwood Mac. Brittany almost said something when Mr. Schue assigned _Rumours_ , but then Santana had to go and sing “Songbird,” and Brittany doesn’t think she’ll have anything but love for that album ever again.

But “Landslide,” that was when Brittany started paying attention to words. After about the twenty third go-round, Brittany slipped back into hearing the feelings and she realized that she had the words down pat. It was like, Santana picked this song because she’s a giant mountain, really big and scary and removed from everything else. And it’s really impressive, being a mountain, and all the other hills want to be mountains because mountains are just so _cool_ , but the thing about mountains is they’re lonely. Even if they see other mountains, they’re always really far away and sharp. Hills are gentle; they slope and roll into each other, and they’re kind of hugs made out of earth. Hills are awesome because pretty much everyone can climb them. But mountains are selective; they only let certain people get to the top, and even when that happens they have to go back down really quickly because it’s kind of cold and slippery. Brittany listened to the song and realized that Santana was a mountain who wanted to be a hill, but she couldn’t do that without causing an avalanche. And Santana was scared because avalanches are destructive and you can’t take them back and you just have to trust that when your rocks stop flowing and come to rest on a plateau, someone will walk by and call you a hill instead of just a pile of rubble.

(It took a long time for Brittany to convince Santana that she was the most trustworthy hill ever formed, and would you please just crumble already because I will catch you and we can be the best hills together).

So when Santana starts singing to her on a cool July night, Brittany doesn’t complain about the fact that she was almost asleep because the only thing better than being asleep with Santana is being awake with her. (The opposite is also true, and Brittany can never decide which way is truer. She usually just shrugs and accepts the fact that things with Santana are always better than things without Santana).

No, Brittany listens before asking Santana to explain herself, even though she pretty much knows the answer to her question. It’s a big thing, hearing Santana express her feelings, especially this time because Brittany doesn’t remember feeling an avalanche shake her world. Maybe it’s already happened inside Santana and Brittany just has to put one last pebble on top of this new Santana-hill to round it off.

But Santana beats her to it when she confirms that she’s asking exactly what Brittany thought she was asking, and suddenly Brittany doesn’t care about words anymore because the only way she can answer is with lips and fingers and sighs. Santana pushes into her with everything she has and Brittany pushes back just as much because she always has and this is no time to stop.

And after a few minutes, when Santana starts to cry, Brittany just keeps going because she has to let Santana know everything—that it’s okay to feel everything she’s feeling; that Brittany is so _proud_ of her for feeling it; that she’s feeling it too, only hers is doubled because she’s feeling it for both of them. Brittany lets Santana cry until she’s screaming because Brittany knows just when to unravel the knot that was tying up her insides.

She lets Santana’s cries turn into body-shaking, heart-spilling, thought-obliterating sobs. Brittany just holds her and lets Santana pull painfully on her hair. Santana is clutching the back of Brittany’s hair the way Brittany’s little sister used to grab her finger when she was still a baby and scared. It’s the most basic instinct humans have, Brittany thinks—touching someone. When you’re really scared or sad or frustrated, a hug cures more than a smile or nice words would. Not even Santana is immune.

After a while, Santana calms down but she doesn’t release her grip on Brittany—one hand in her hair, the other wrapped around Brittany’s torso like the safety buckle on a life jacket. Brittany just presses soft kisses to any part of Santana she can reach; her temple, her nose, her neck, her cheeks. She keeps kissing her until Santana is finished feeling an avalanche.

She swipes a tear from the bridge of Santana’s nose and follows it up with one more kiss. “Do you want some water?”

“No, thank you,” Santana murmurs. She tangles a finger behind Brittany’s back, twirling hair and scraping her nails down Brittany’s spine. Brittany can’t decide if it tickles or if it’s just soothing, so she snuggles back against Santana’s hand to get better informed. “Britt?”

Santna’s question is soft, almost embarrassed, and she doesn’t look at Brittany. This is usually when Brittany gets a feeling that sad things are about to happen, but she remains cautiously hopeful. Still, she can’t manage more than a gentle hum as a response.

“Did you…was it like this for you with Artie? I know you loved him, but I just—was it?”

Brittany thinks before she answers. She knows that she has to be very clear with her words because if they aren’t the right ones, Santana will think she’s done something wrong. It isn’t about right or wrong when it comes to feelings, but Santana still thinks it is. Brittany has a lot of teaching to do. She thinks Santana is ready to listen this time.

“It was different,” Brittany says.

“Bad different?”

“No,” Brittany answers. “It wasn’t bad different and it wasn’t good different. It wasn’t really better or worse. It was just…not enough.”

“Am I enough for you?”

“No.” She feels Santana stiffen underneath her like she was expecting. “You’ll never be enough, Santana. That’s why I won’t ever let you go.”

The hairs on Brittany’s arm stand up when Santana sucks in a poorly-stifled gasp. Someday, Brittany thinks, Santana will confront the concept of _them_ without fearful breaths. If tonight is any indication, it might be fairly soon, and for this and a million other reasons, Brittany smiles.

“Is it wrong to say that I don’t feel the same way?” Santana has loosened her hold on Brittany’s hair but she’s still twirling strands, and Brittany decides that somewhere in between tears and words, Santana’s fingers have become the most calming things in Brittany’s world. Definitely not ticklish. “I mean,” she continues, “you’re not not-enough and you’re not just enough, either. You’re more than enough, you know? I don’t know, it sounds weird when I say it.”

“It’s not weird, honey. It’s just how you feel.”

Santana laughs quietly. “Yeah, well just tell me that every once in a while, will you?”

“Of course.”

Brittany pulls Santana closer to her and wonders if this was the reason for Santana’s fear and reluctance all along—not the mere idea of just loving Brittany, but loving her _so_ much, maybe too much. Brittany wonders if Santana felt the same forever-pull that she did from almost the first minute they met. It’s not that Brittany has ever doubted that Santana loved her—not even when Santana doubted it—but forever-love is different for someone who prefers words to feelings. Brittany gets it; how in the world is Santana supposed to express her love for Brittany in words when words are not forever? Brittany thinks Santana is even braver for trying anyway.

And as they lie in silence, Brittany realizes that maybe her word-person is turning into a feelings-person.

Someday soon, she thinks.


	3. I Miss You

_(it hurts my pride to tell you how I feel)_

A week later, Santana and Brittany are walking around the mall for the third day in a row. It’s not that there’s nothing else to do in Lima—ever since Ben Roethlisberger got famous, Lima is kind of like Ohio’s goofy middle child who occasionally does something absolutely genius. Santana doesn’t even really like the Steelers and she thinks Roethlisberger is kind of a dick, but she’s still quick to shut anyone down who might diss the dude. He’s still one of theirs. It’s exactly the same way she feels about Rachel Berry.

So they’re at the mall because Columbus is a two hour drive away and really that’s something they have to take a whole day for, and because neither of them wants to sit at the pool and chaperone Brittany’s little sister and her squealing friends. Normally Santana would jump all over that because she loves to sit outside and tan, but she’s not trying to impress boys anymore and she doesn’t want to give Brittany the opportunity to do the same, just in case she was thinking of it.

Besides, the mall is kind of a cool character study. Brittany drags Santana to the food court so they can get frozen yogurt first thing, and they walk around shopping and watching and laughing. They run into Tina, who is shopping with Mike and looks ecstatic. Brittany spies Mercedes and Sam sharing too-close smiles and touches over smoothies and she wants to say hi, but Santana stops her. She recognizes a secret relationship when she sees one, and she knows that there isn’t anything that spoils the mood quicker than getting caught. And not just the mood for the day. It ruins the feel of the whole thing for the rest of the summer. Summer loves are supposed to be about getting too drunk and too handsy and too giggly and not caring about it at all. You’re not supposed to ask questions or even talk. It’s a rule.

(Santana’s heart speeds up every time she thinks about the fact that hers isn’t a summer love anymore. She hates talking).

Brittany prompts her for a napkin when her yogurt runs down the side of her hand. For a moment, Santana has an urge to just lick it off herself (not even in a sexy way; just lick it off like when you’re six years old and pretending you’re a dog), but then she remembers that there are other people in the mall, and this mall is in Ohio. So instead, she reaches into her purse and puts the napkin on Brittany’s hand, holding her yogurt for a moment so she can wipe it off. Brittany smiles like this little moment wasn’t a test at all and Santana thinks that maybe she hasn’t failed.

There’s a tiny kiosk right in front of Old Navy that Brittany keeps leading them past. Santana hasn’t said anything for three days and neither has Brittany, but Santana notices it. She knows why Brittany is so drawn to it. It’s selling scarves and gloves and those hats that have tassels and look like frogs or pandas or pigs, which Santana thinks is odd because it’s the middle of July and there can’t really be anyone who wants to buy them. But Brittany does because she loves hats, and so Santana scans the selection every time they get close enough. She frowns in confusion because nothing screams ‘Brittany’ and she doesn’t really get why they keep coming back.

So when they pop back to the food court for an afternoon pretzel, she brings it up.

“We need to do something else, Britt-Britt.”

Brittany bites down onto her pretzel, leaving a dusting of cinnamon and sugar on her lips. _This is a mall full of people_ , Santana has to tell herself again. _Ohio-people_.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on. We spend so much time here that we’re going to end up buying something from the guy who sells winter hats just because we feel so sorry for him.”

“Ugh, not me.” Brittany scrunches up her nose in disapproval. “His hats are boring and he kind of smells like hamsters.”

Santana frowns and changes tack. “Okay. So, I dunno, pool tomorrow?”

Brittany cocks her head. “No, I’m going on a family trip tomorrow, remember?”

“You said you weren’t leaving until Saturday.”

Brittany smiles.  “Tomorrow is Saturday, silly.”

Santana groans because summer is fun until you forget how to read a calendar or a clock because time doesn’t really mean anything for two months. “No fair,” she whines.

“It’s only for five days, Santana,” Brittany chuckles.

“Yeah, but that’s five days without…”

“What?”

(Brittany’s smile is gone and her pretzel is forgotten and her eyes are so beautiful. Santana checks herself. _Ohio-people_ , she breathes).

“I just don’t have anyone else to hang out with,” she mumbles. She knows it’s not enough.

“Oh.” Brittany’s loose cheeks and downcast eyes tell Santana she knows, too. “Well, like I said, it’s only five days.”

“Yeah.” Santana suddenly has an urge to study the ground. Brittany certainly seems to find it extremely fascinating. She kicks Brittany’s foot lightly to get her attention. “Can I have a bite of that?” she asks.

“Have the rest,” Brittany murmurs, sliding her pretzel across the table like it’s the saddest pretzel ever.

(It kind of is).

/

Santana wakes up in time to send Brittany a text the next morning _(“Have fun and punch your cousin for me; he’s a perv”_ ) and tries to get to sleep before she thinks about all the things that the text doesn’t say.

( _I wish you didn’t have to go_ ).

( _I wish I could go with you._ )

( _I want to spend five days running up the dunes of Michigan with you because your legs look lovely against gold sand._ )

( _And we’d sit on the beach when we finally got to the end and it would be perfect even if the water was a little too cold and smelled like dead fish because you’d put your sweatshirt around both of us and we could just sit until your sister yelled at us for being boring and your mom smiled like she knew we were anything but._ )

( _I love you._ )

Brittany responds two minutes later with a smiley face and a kiss.

Santana doesn’t get to sleep.

Three hours later, she gets out of bed and tries her best to ignore her mom, who’s sitting in the kitchen sipping coffee and looking at her like something important is about to happen.

(It is, but Santana doesn’t know it yet).

“Going to the mall again?” Maribel asks.

“Yep.”

“With Brittany?”

“No.”

“Oh?”

“I probably won’t be back before you go to sleep.”

She wants to leave right then, but her mom is drinking out of Brittany’s favorite mug so Santana steals a sip and gives her mom a kiss on her temple on her way out the door.

The mall is quiet for a Saturday. Santana figures everyone must be on vacation, but when a janitor walks by and makes some generic comment about getting started early, she realizes that it’s ten thirty in the morning and the mall has only been open for half an hour.

She gets a frozen yogurt even though the cashier gives her a weird look. Then she heads downstairs and spends half an hour sitting on a bench across from hat-man, trying to figure out why Brittany kept coming back.

When she pivots half a turn to her left to throw out her yogurt cup, she knows.

(Santana isn’t really scared of loving Brittany anymore. Not as much as she used to be, anyway. It isn’t for that reason that she doesn’t tell Brittany the truth about how she just wants to spend the whole summer laughing with her and sleeping with her and _sleeping_ with her and other stuff. She knows now. She accepts that they’re a thing and they’re not going back, ever.

No, the thing stopping her is the fact that everything is going to change. It’s not a fear and she knows that Brittany would see it that way at first, which is why maybe she needs these five days to figure out a way to explain it. She’s not afraid. Not cripplingly, not in a way that would set them back into dark ages that not even a flamethrower could lead them out of. If someone danced around the subject of ‘Santana and Brittany’, she probably wouldn’t really answer. But if someone—Quinn, Mercedes, Tina, Sam, Rachel, whoever—if they asked directly, Santana would respond with a direct answer. She’s sure of that. She’s ready. She’s not afraid.

But she misses Brittany.

She misses Brittany her best friend, and she’s cautious. She knows that relationships change people. You don’t always talk about the same things. When Santana was with Puck, she would talk to Brittany about it. She can’t talk to Brittany about Brittany. She used to talk about sex things—like, Puck and boy-sex things—with Brittany. She can’t talk about Brittany-sex things with Brittany because it means so much more and she actually feels insecure sometimes. And she hasn’t seen Quinn for weeks, and Santana isn’t quite ready to induct Rachel into friend territory.

Santana is cautious about what will happen if she gains a girlfriend and loses a best friend. She doesn’t want every goofy moment to end in kisses or more; she doesn’t want silly comments to turn into serious conversations. She wants to be the Brittany and Santana who laughed and played before they started knowing every part of each other, inside and outside and the parts in between, too. And she wants to be the Brittany and Santana who laugh and play _after_ all of that at the same time.

But this isn’t like being in Cheerios and Glee at the same time because even if she does both, she’ll always like one better. It’s human nature. It’s impossible to love two things with your entire being at the same time, and when she thinks about how Sue Sylvester is losing for once, Santana knows she has to make a choice.

Santana wants everything to be magically fixed because they made love last week and she meant it three times over. But if all it took to fix her problems was a pretty song and the right sex with the right person, she would have done that ages ago.

She just needs time to figure out how to tell Brittany that it isn’t an easy choice to make and it might be just a little longer.)

/

So she turns to her left and sees a tiny shop selling candles and funny magnets and one-of-a-kind necklaces.

She realizes that Brittany must have been waiting for Santana to notice it for three days, so she gets up from her bench, hesitating only to prepare herself for the emotions she knows she’s going to feel when she goes in. She isn’t afraid. She’s working her way from cautious to confident.

A bell jingles above the door when she goes in.

She smiles because everything in here screams ‘Brittany’ and Santana doesn’t really have to miss her anymore.


	4. Best Thing I Never Had

( _thank god I found the good in goodbye_ )

Santana realizes this is the first time she’s really ever done something like this, shopping seriously for a random gift. It isn’t Christmas; Brittany’s birthday isn’t until October; it isn’t New Year’s or Valentine’s or the first day of school or any other day they would call a holiday because Brittany always wants to make scary things special. It’s just Saturday, and when Santana sees Brittany next, it will just be Wednesday. But she still needs to get a gift.

Because Santana’s going to try. She’s going to take all of the scary things about her—the ones that scare her but that make Brittany smile—and turn them into something real, into something she can quantify and measure. Something that she can look at for hours until she’s convinced that she’s bigger than it. Something she can hand to Brittany in a pretty gift-wrapped box, with ribbons tied not-so-tight because Brittany is always too eager to take them off nicely. She wants to turn her scary parts into special parts that Brittany can unwrap and keep on her nightstand and be proud of.

She mills around the bumper stickers and magnets for a few minutes to get herself acclimated to the store. They’re funny in a generic way, political and rebellious, and they make Santana flash back to seventh grade when she first met Brittany, before Quinn or things like status and consequences. She flashes back to when they had matching backpacks and bought buttons for twenty five cents to pin on every spare inch of fabric they could find; back to when they thought it was the funniest and most daring thing to go into Starbucks and ask for a cup of water and then make a big show of dumping six thousand honey packets into it, like they had just cheated the system. Like a cup of water with honey that just sat on the bottom was better and tastier than hot chocolate or a frappucino simply because it was free.

She winds her way through narrow aisles, sometimes turning to look at a candle or pretty figurine that isn’t a cheesy angel, but nothing is Brittany. The back of the store is quieter and more personal, with signs advertising custom earrings or necklaces or bracelets. Santana briefly considers this idea, but scraps it when she realizes it wouldn’t be done in time. Everything hinges on her being able to actually give something to Brittany the minute she gets home.

“Looking for something, sweetheart?” Santana looks up to see a wrinkly, welcoming woman staring at her from behind a counter. Her voice has a slight twang to it, something that Santana is glad she never picked up. She always wanted to live closer to Pennsylvania, where everyone sounds like a newscaster.

“I don’t know,” she replies. “Not really, but I’ll know when I see it.”

“Shopping for yourself?”

“No. A friend.” Santana takes one more peek at a jewelry case before shaking her head.

The woman narrows her eyes and smiles shrewdly. “How good of a friend?”

Santana smiles before answering. “Good. Great.”

“That's it?”

Santana hopes the woman can’t feel the sudden downpour of embarrassment that floods Santana from head to toe. “Best,” she clarifies.

“Hmm,” the woman considers. “I’m gonna take a guess and say this friend of yours is a girl, because I don’t imagine any boy would want a dainty necklace.”

Santana laughs. “No, this is definitely for my—um, yeah, she’s a girl,” she corrects quickly. “We had a bit of a disagreement before she went away on a trip and I just want to do something nice.”

“Well, in that case you won’t want anything over there,” the woman declares, dismissing all of the jewelry in the stand in front of Santana as well as the one behind her. “That’s my stash of ‘Take me back’ jewelry. They’re impersonal pieces that boys buy for their girlfriends when they’ve done something stupid but don’t really know what.”

Santana gives them one more glance, thinking that maybe she should pick something out of there anyway. She might need to do some crawling. But the woman is watching her intently, so she looks away.

“Right, okay,” she says, clearing her throat. “So then what do I want?”

The woman smiles and motions for Santana to follow her further back. “I think I’ve got something in my _exclusive_ collection.” She laughs like her collection isn’t anything near exclusive, but Santana wouldn’t know either way so she just keeps walking. “My name is Janis, by the way.”

 _Of course it is_ , Santana thinks. “I’m Santana,” she says instead, surprising herself. She rarely offers her name to strangers.

Janis smiles over her shoulder. “Good to meet you, Santana. Now, tell me about this friend of yours.”

“It’s a little hard,” Santana admits. “She’s kind of the person you have to experience.”

“Try me.”

“She’s…”

“Funny? Sweet? Too loud?”

Santana rolls her eyes, trying to find the words. How is she supposed to describe Brittany to someone who doesn’t already know her? “She’s…you know how every time you go to a zoo, there’s always that one monkey or whatever that’s doing its own thing? It’s, like, trying to get something down from a tree and all the other monkeys haven’t figured out how but they’re looking at the weird one like he’s dumb for even trying? And they leave him alone for twenty minutes when all of a sudden he darts up the tree better and faster and smarter than they ever could. And he’s all anyone can talk about for the rest of the day. Like, that’s the story the little kids tell their friends and grandparents for a whole month, and then when they’re older and someone says “Remember that time…” everyone knows they’re talking about the monkey at the zoo.”

Janis smiles and squats down, opening a cabinet Santana can’t see with a key that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. “That’s what your friend is?”

Santana shrugs playfully. “Or something.”

Janis sticks her head further into the cabinet, reaching toward the back. “Is she pretty?” She asks the question like it doesn’t mean anything; like she’d ask it of anyone who came in looking for a gift for their friend. Santana is pretty sure she wouldn’t.

And it does mean something. It means everything.

“Well, I, um,” she falters. “She’s…yeah. _Yes_ ,” she clarifies. “Yes, she’s pretty. She’s…that,” she says, surprised because Janis has pulled out a necklace that is more Brittany than Santana could ever hope to find in jewelry.

It’s just a simple stone on a silver chain. A teardrop of purple that Santana knows will look beautiful against Brittany’s skin and she won’t have any reason to look away from Brittany’s eyes ever again. Janis tells her it’s amethyst and Santana pays for it quickly, ignoring the shrewd look in Janis’s eye. There is a glint. Santana’s working on it, but her instinct is still to hide from glints.

She exits the shop so quickly that she barrels into a mountain of boy, finding herself suddenly choked by a haze of freshly-applied Axe body spray. She rolls her eyes and coughs, relieved that she’s done with boys. Nothing really piled on the shame quicker than the after-smell of sex and too much cologne.

“Who lit your panties on fire, Lopez?” Puck’s face is leering and lewd, just like it always is, but Santana thinks she can read some actual affection in his eyes and smile. She wonders if it was always there and she was just too busy to notice.

“You’re lucky I’m not _actually_ on fire, Puckerman, or else we’d both die in a fiery explosion of chemicals. Why don’t you just shower like the rest of us? You smell like ass.”

“Aw, come on. Chicks dig this crap.”

“As if. What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you too cool for the mall?”

He shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I busted my shades go-karting yesterday. Gotta pick up another pair. What about you?”

Santana fumbles and clutches her purchase tighter, wincing as the bag crinkles. “This is a mall. I’m a girl. We shop.”

“Yeah, but don’t you usually do it in packs? Where’s Brittany?”

Santana replaces the hurt in her eyes with a glare. “You’re not buying sunglasses,” she deflects. “The Sunglass Hut is upstairs. You’re here for that stupid cream you use on your hair that they only sell in a boutique.”

But Puck bounces it right back at her. “Yeah, well, if you’re shopping then why do you only have one tiny bag?”

(Santana remembers why it was so easy for them to pretend together. They work.)

“Whatever. I’m out of here.” She pushes past him and tries not to run for the doors.

Puck calls after her. “Hey! I promise beers if you buy my cream. Oh yeah, and my hair stuff, too.” He chuckles, holding out a couple of bills.

“You’re gross.” She rolls her eyes and snatches them out of his hand. “Better be the good shit. You make me drink PBR one more time and I’m charging a $100 inconvenience fee.”

He’s there waiting for her when she leaves the boutique. She doesn’t give him his change and he doesn’t ask. He reaches into his back pocket and slides knock-off Aviators onto his ears as he flashes her a victorious grin. She waits until he’s strutting a few steps in front of her before smiling back.

Santana watches him as they walk into the parking lot. She wonders what it would be like to buy a random gift for Puck. Would she do it? She’d certainly know what to buy. He’s not hard. She knows that he loves his sister, and he always has time for anything they can do together that isn’t too girly. She could buy them a couple of rock-climbing lessons or use her dad’s credit card to rent out an arcade for the day because Sarah is kind of a nerd like Sam. And if she wanted to buy gifts just for Puck, she’d get him a couple months’ worth of his hair crap or finally buy him that old Gibson she knows he’s been eyeing for the last couple of years. He doesn’t have an electric guitar but he keeps blowing his money on video games even though he really wants one. Sometimes she thinks he does it on purpose. Before Brittany, that was what made Santana feel bad and have sex with him.

It wouldn’t be hard to get a gift for Puck. She wouldn’t have to think about it so much and it would actually feel nice because she doesn’t think he gets many gifts from anyone. It would be nice to see him as happy and appreciative as she knows he would be. When he follows her to her car and opens her door, smiling, before telling her to follow him back to his house, she thinks she might buy that guitar anyway. Puck deserves a lot more than he gets.

But Santana is glad that she doesn’t have to buy easy gifts. She’s glad that she can wrack her brains trying to come up with the perfect purple necklace because these Brittany-gifts mean so much more. Brittany won’t just be happy that Santana thought of her. She won’t smile just because it’s a pretty necklace and Santana bought it on a whim. She’ll know that Santana bought it for a reason; that the necklace says so much more than “Just thinking of you” and “I thought it’d match your eyes.”

Brittany will know that the necklace says “I’m sorry that I keep backtracking,” and “I want you to know that I’m trying,” and “I thought it’d match your eyes,” and “I love you.” Brittany will know this, and when she wears the necklace, she’ll feel it, too.

Santana’s phone buzzes in the console next to her seat. She frowns when she sees Puck’s name on the screen.

“What?” she snaps.

“You meditating about those pedals or something? Get a move on.”

“You keep insulting me like that and I’ll bail.”

“Nah, you can’t resist me. Poker, beer, and a friendly chat with the Puckasaurus. Just like we used to.”

Santana scoffs. “Not _just_ like we used to. I’m not sleeping with you, Puck.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got Lauren, you’ve got—well, whatever. We’re friends, is all.” He clears his throat, covering up his insightful slip.

She hesitates for a moment, knowing that he think she’s going to snap at him. She feels sad that even her friends are wary. “Just shut up and drive,” she says instead. Santana is surprised by how tired she sounds. “I’ll meet you there. And Puck?”

“Yeah?”

“I was serious about that beer. None of that watered down crap. You know I like a Corona when I kick your ass.”

“Brave words, Lopez.” His laugh sounds relieved.

“Just the truth.”

As she puts the car in drive, she wonders when it became so easy to be Puck’s friend and why she can’t let herself be this easy with Brittany.

Three beers and four hundred dollars later she gets her answer. She starts crying all over her full house because Brittany always had a funny story about the queen of hearts and now she can’t remember what it was. All she can think of is a blonde in Michigan having fun with her family, swimming and counting stars and roasting marshmallows and going to bed alone.

It might not be easy but that’s the best part. 


	5. Party

( _I’ll give it all away; just don’t tell nobody tomorrow_ )

“Four aces, Suckerman! Read ‘em and weep.”

“Shit, no; that’s your deal, Lopez.”

“Just give me your scarf.” She tries to lunge across the table to grab it, but all the Corona sloshing in her stomach has slowed her reflexes.

“Get your own. This thing’s cool, man. It’s got little pockets for my hands.”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly where _my_ hands will fit perfectly. Give me your fucking scarf.”

He does, eventually. Santana is pretty awesome at reverse strip poker.

The only downside to twelve consecutive winning hands is that Puck is sitting nice and cool in shorts and a t-shirt while she’s piled under three hats, two pairs of gloves, a set of earmuffs, a pair of socks, a winter coat, and now a scarf. She may be a beast at this game, but she’s also pretty sure she’s running a fever.

“I think I’m gonna barf,” she groans as she begins to peel off her layers.

“Drink more beer” is Puck’s only response. Santana’s slap is far less forceful than she intended.

“If I do that, I’m definitely puking on your precious scarf.”

“Well then I’ll make this easy for you.” He crosses to her side of the table and pulls it from her neck, spinning her half a turn in her chair.

“Damn it, Puck!” she squeals, putting a hand to her head. “Stop stripping me. I’m still not sleeping with you.”

“I know that,” he says, moving onto the tightly-squashed pile of fabric on her head. “I just don’t want to clean up your mess. When did you become such a lightweight anyway? Where’d all your fun go?”

Santana folds her hands on the table and rests her cheek against the cool glass. “Michigan,” she grumbles. “It left me for swarms of mosquitoes and bonfires on the beach.” She groans again when her stomach shudders. Something clinks next to her face and she looks up to see a cold glass of water.

“Crapping out on me already?”

“No.” Puck sits across from her and starts shuffling the cards again. “We’re playing War.”

Santana scoffs. “What are you, twelve? You’re just a sore loser.”

“And you’re angry and scared. So what? Just play the fucking game.”

“Fine,” she huffs, scooting herself upright. “You’re going down again.”

“I don’t think so,” Puck counters. The cards slide gracefully between his fingers as he shuffles them. Santana wonders why he kept losing; he’s obviously spent a good deal of time playing cards. “See, I’m gonna make this game interesting. Whoever wins a pair gets to ask the other person a question and they have to answer, no exceptions.”

“Fuck no,” Santana immediately protests.

“It’s either that or shots. Take your pick.” Santana’s stomach roils at the thought of more alcohol. “Come on, Lopez. It’s just one night.”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Just deal.”

Puck smiles and shuffles twice more, dealing out the deck with practiced familiarity. Santana gathers her cards in her hands, her still-drunk fingers fumbling to get them into a nice pile. Puck watches her the whole time, coughing when she doesn’t have a handle on them twenty seconds later. She’s half tempted to just throw the whole thing in his face and walk home.

Instead, she flips over her first card and smiles—there’s no way he’s beating a king.

“What are you doing hanging with me on Saturday night when you’ve got yourself a girl?” she asks when she sees his ten.

“Lauren’s off at a wrestling match this weekend. Says it’s bad luck when I come with.” His eight beats her two. “What did you buy at the mall?”

“A necklace.”  Her ten to his four. “Lauren or Berry: who wins?”

“Rachel.”

Her six to his three. “Quinn or Berry?”

“Quinn, always.” His king to her nine. “What are you most scared of?”

“Me.”

His queen to her five. “Why?”

“I think Brittany can find someone ten times better.”

They both flip down eights and stare at each other.

“What now?” Santana finally asks.

Puck smiles. “War, babe. Three down, one up. Whoever wins gets to ask a question per card.”

“Did all that beer replace your balls with some ovaries? Why don’t we just play Truth or Dare if you’re going to be so girly?”

“Would you ever pick truth?”

“No.”

“Exactly. So shut up and throw down, Lopez.”

She sighs and carefully places three cards face-down in line with her eight. Puck counts down before they simultaneously flip over their last card.

She fucking knew it.

Santana stands up and shoves her chair away. “I’m done playing this game, Puck. You win. I surrender.”

“Santana—”

“No, I’m done with you and your shitty rules. All I wanted was beer and poker so I didn’t have to think about my best friend, who’s probably still mad or disappointed or whatever, having fun on her dumb family trip without me. I didn’t realize you were going to ruin it with _feelings_.”

Puck stands up carefully and approaches her like she’s a skittish deer, just born and unsure of its feet. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Dude, you’re sad as fuck. Like hell you don’t need my help.” Santana stops glaring long enough to hide her eyes. She hates that the tears welling in them seem to agree with him. “Sit down,” he says softly.

Instead, Santana walks into his living room and turns on the television. She rifles through his DVD collection, settling on _Transformers_. By the time she gets to the menu screen, Puck is sprawled out on the couch exactly where she wanted to sit. She squishes next to him, hoping he’ll get annoyed and shove her off. But he just wraps an arm around her shoulder and presses play on the remote.

“Four questions,” he murmurs. “You can even ogle Megan Fox while you answer.”

She smacks his chest. “Fuck off, Puck.”

“You’re totally going to though, aren’t you?”

“That counts as one of your questions.”

“Then answer it.”

“Yes. Can we just get this over with?”

“Shut up,” he whispers as the credits roll. “I love this movie.”

He waits until Sam discovers Bumblebee to ask her the first question.

(“Why would Brittany be disappointed in you?”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“Santana.”

“Because I can’t man up enough to be with her. I don’t get it, Puck. The one thing I want more than anything else in the world, and I chicken out every time.”

“It’s tough being honest. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I have to be when I’m so good at pretending.”

“You never convinced me.”)

By the time the Autobots are ruining Sam’s lawn, Santana is almost asleep. She wills her eyes to close faster, knowing that Puck is keeping an eye on her even if his gaze is locked on Megan Fox’s tits.

“I’m not letting you pass out on me, Lopez. You still owe me two answers.”

“So ask me quickly then,” she mumbles into his armpit. She’d readjust, but she’s too tired to move.

“What would the worst part about finally being with Brittany be?”

She sighs, feels his shirt ripple against her heavy breath. “Just…having to admit it, like it’s some kind of dirty secret that people are allowed to judge me for. And I know they will. I don’t want that for me, and I don’t want that for Brittany. I know she won’t give those idiots a second’s thought, but she always notices when I’m sad and I don’t want her to feel like she constantly has to take care of me. I can take care of myself.”

“Not well.”

“I’m doing fine, Puck,” she snaps defensively.

He shakes her shoulder to calm her down. “I’m not trying to start anything, Santana.” It’s his turn to exhale heavily, and this time he actually pauses the movie so he can look at her. “All of that bad stuff, all of that crap that might not even happen—”

“It _will_.”

“—is it enough to let go of Brittany completely?”

Santana swipes at her eyes and clears her throat. Maybe Puck is right; she does kind of suck at pretending. The way he squeezes her shoulder tells her that he’s not fooled. So she shrugs and wipes her tears on his shirt.

“No,” she croaks. “But I can’t ask her to wait for me forever.”

“Maybe you don’t have to.”

Santana coughs and sits up, flicking away the tears that have trailed inconvenient paths down the bridge of her nose. Puck looks around the room and finds a napkin sitting on the coffee table. It’s worse than a tissue but better than nothing, so Santana accepts it.

“Why do you care so much, Puck? I was a total bitch to you.”

He coughs and almost reaches for the napkin before catching himself. “One of us should get the girl,” he answers. The movie, which has been paused for too long, reverts to a screensaver. Dancing reds and blues reflect off his sad smile. Santana tilts her head and tries to smile back. She thinks hers is just as convincing as his, which is to say it isn’t convincing at all.

They fall asleep on the couch and when Santana wakes up the next morning, she pulls his shirt down (which seems to have ridden up during the night) and realizes that this is the first time they’ve ever slept in the same bed and woken up completely clothed.

She stumbles her way back to the kitchen, finding her purse and taking two aspirin out. The water from the night before is lukewarm, but it’s wet and that’s all she really needs.

She pulls crumpled bills from her pocket—Puck’s change from the boutique yesterday—and leaves them on his kitchen table. The sun is too bright for barely seven o’clock, and when Santana finally pulls into her own driveway, it’s only a few moments before she’s found solace again on her own couch. She’s asleep in minutes, dreaming of giant mutant playing cards. The king of clubs runs after her with a mace; the ace of spades has a freshly-sharpened shovel; the jack of diamonds threatens with a chisel that looks like it might explode her bones if she so much as looks at it. Only the queen of hearts is friendly. She watches Santana with pleading eyes, eyes that are too blue and too shrewd. _Let me save you_ , her eyes say, and Santana runs away every time.

When Puck texts her to make sure she’s okay, Santana shuts him down. He doesn’t bring it up again.

But she never forgets.


	6. Rather Die Young

( _you’re the first I've one ever seen that burns like gasoline, so light a match_ )

Santana doesn’t do much for the next few days. She has no reason to go to the mall anymore, though she spends so much time looking at Brittany’s necklace that her mom starts to notice. (“For a boy?” her mother asks, and Santana just glares because the only boy she knows who would even think of wearing jewelry is Kurt and they’re not exactly on good terms. Or at least not gift-giving terms).

So instead she sits on her couch and burns through her _ER_ box-sets. She goes for a lot of runs. She avoids Rachel Berry at The Lima Bean whenever she can, which gets so difficult that she stops going entirely. It’s almost like the hobbit is waiting for her, either so she can apologize for Nationals or barrage Santana with a slew of self-righteous, histrionic, four-syllable words. Santana doesn’t have the stomach for either of those, so she makes her own coffee.

Tuesday morning Santana gets a text from Brittany. Her phone buzzes right in the middle of Lucy and Carter getting stabbed, and instead of pausing the episode to check it, she lets it play out. And she watches the next two before she decides it’s time for lunch, and with lunch comes another episode, and by that time it’s three o’clock and the sun is putting her to sleep. So she takes a nap and makes dinner and at 7:53, she finally reads Brittany’s message.

_Mom said we’ll probably get home around five tomorrow. Can’t wait to see you xx_

Santana hangs her head as she feels a flush of guilt creep up her cheeks. This is exactly why she didn’t check it earlier—not because she thought it was going to be a disappointed text, or because she thought Brittany would intentionally make her feel bad. No, Santana avoided her phone because she knew it was just going to be a normal text, like she was happy to be coming home to see Santana. And she was; Santana knew she was. It’s what makes everything so hard, that after everything she does or says, Brittany will always come back. If there’s anything that Santana doesn’t understand about Brittany, that’s it.

 _Aren’t you tired?_ Santana replies. _Go to sleep, Britt. I know you’re getting an early start._

(It’s only after she sends it that Santana realizes Brittany wasn’t tired at ten o’clock that morning, which was when she texted. Santana frowns at herself. It’s like, even when she’s trying to be nice and normal, she’s doing it wrong. Suddenly Santana is glad that Brittany isn’t there to see her face).

Her phone buzzes within ten seconds of sending the text, like Brittany was waiting all day for her to respond. It’s exactly why she didn’t.

But she can’t stop the smile that immediately sprouts up at the sound of Brittany’s ringtone, and that smile certainly doesn’t let her reject the call.

“Hey, B,” she mumbles, pausing her episode of _ER._

“Hi! Were you napping? You sound sleepy. It’s only 8:00, Santana; are you getting old already?”

“It’s 8:00 on a Tuesday, Britt.”

“Uh, yeah, a Tuesday in _July_. Go do something! What’s Puck up to?”

“Um, we hung out a couple days ago,” Santana deflects. She knows Brittany picks up on it.

“Oh. Okay. What about Quinn?”

Santana sighs, half out of worry, half out of relief that finally they’re talking about one of the few fears she actually doesn’t mind voicing. Everyone’s worried about Quinn. Santana can talk about it because it’s one of those universal fears, like public speaking or Furbies.

“I don’t know what her deal is, B. She won’t return any of my calls or texts and Puck says he’s seen her at those really skeevy bars downtown. She’s got pink hair and tattoos and Puck said she smelled like she hadn’t showered in a week. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

“More like what _isn’t_ ,” Brittany quips. Santana smiles because this is the Brittany that only she gets, the one that’s funny in a dry way. The school and the whole rest of the world get the bubbly Brittany, the one everyone is always a little bit in love with, but this is the Brittany that only Santana gets to be in love with. She loves this Brittany because this Brittany surprises her and always makes her laugh. This Brittany is eerily on-point with observational witty remarks. This Brittany shows just how intelligent she really is. This is the Brittany that oozes out after a late night of studying, when facts and words and numbers have pushed unicorns and cats and goofy smiles to the back of her brain. This Brittany surfaces with zingers that have Santana rolling on the floor, forgetting that she might break her glasses or get pen all over her clothes. When school has sucked everything else out and they can just be Brittany and Santana, this is the Brittany that Santana finds sexiest.

“Come on, B,” Santana chides. “You know she’s been through stuff. Cut the girl a little slack.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been through stuff, too, and I don’t see you getting tattoos and crappy dye jobs.”

Santana swallows at least three times before answering. “That’s different, Brittany,” she whispers.

“I guess.” The line is quiet while both of them think of what comes next. “I’m worried, too, San,” Brittany finally says. “Let’s just…we’ll figure something out when I get back, okay?”

Santana nods. “Yeah, yeah okay. You said tomorrow at five, right?”

“Yeah, why? Are you gonna sit on my porch and wait for me?”

(She laughs like it’s ridiculous, but that’s not too far from what Santana was planning on doing. Actually, it’s kind of _exactly_ like what she was planning on doing.)

“Shut up,” she teases. “I just want to make sure I’m there when you get back. I have something for you.”

Brittany squeals. If she didn’t have to hold her phone, Santana is pretty sure she’d be clapping. “San! You didn’t have to get me anything. _I’m_ supposed to be the one coming home with souvenirs.”

“Well, we’ll trade when you get back.”

“Like Christmas in July?”

Santana chuckles. “Yeah, only better because there’s no snow.”

“I like the snow.” Santana can almost see Brittany’s pout.

“I know you do, B. You shove it down my pants every chance you get.”

“It’s not my fault you have such short legs and can’t get away.”

“No, it’s your fault that your legs are longer than the Nile. Show a girl some mercy.”

“Run faster,” Brittany teases.

(It was always that easy for them, the switch from joking to flirting. It’s what makes the idea of _them_ so confusing because Santana could never tell where friends stopped and ‘something more’ started. She was always terrified of how easy it was, to fall into words that meant more than everything their letters added up to. It was so easy that Santana felt like she’d been doing it all her life, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t come up with a reason to ever stop. When you’re sixteen, that’s kind of the scariest thing ever).

Brittany has gone quiet and Santana can imagine her lying in bed, twisting a strand of hair or pushing at a soft spot on her blanket. There are tears in her eyes quicker than she ever imagined when she realizes just how much she wants to be that soft spot.

“I miss you,” she says softly. _“I love you”_ is what she means.

“Yeah, I know. Me too,” Brittany replies, and there are those more-than-letters words again.

“Get some sleep, B. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Brittany hums a confirmation and Santana hangs up. She presses play on the remote and finishes her episode, but she doesn’t really pay attention. Instead, she dreams of ridiculous things. She imagines a world where Brittany has gone away on tour and she calls Santana every night to talk before bed, and maybe Santana sings her a song and maybe Brittany cries and there are many ‘I love you’s and none of them are embarrassing or things to be hidden. She imagines happy kisses when Brittany comes back and Santana has cooked her favorite meal and their apartment is tiny and it doesn’t have to be in New York; maybe it’s in California or even still in Lima because Santana is happy wherever Brittany is and there are a lot of people here who need to learn how to dance. Dancing must make you a better person because any time Santana dances with Brittany she feels fearless. If Brittany can make the world less afraid, Santana doesn’t care where she does it. She only cares that she’s there.

A month ago, or maybe even a week ago, Santana would have checked these thoughts. She would have smiled a bittersweet smile at all the pipe dreams she’s ever had because a world where she and Brittany are happy is one that only ever exists in fantasies. But she’s spent five days sitting inside watching melodramatic doctor shows, being completely miserable without Brittany, and Santana realizes that maybe her dreams aren’t so far-fetched. She doesn’t have complicated dreams like Rachel or Kurt. She doesn’t have dreams that require auditions and effort and a hell of a lot of chance. She really only has one dream.

Brittany is her dream. Just…Brittany, and whatever else that means. And after the night they shared—the most terrifying, vulnerable, liberating night Santana’s ever experienced—she thinks that maybe Brittany is not so out of reach. Maybe she’s got one dream too, and that dream is Santana. It used to scare her, the love. The dream. It used to make her run away until she found something safe to settle into. But now, after she’s felt more loved in one night than she ever thought she could be in a lifetime, Santana finds that she’d run to Michigan right now if it meant she could feel it faster.

(She falls asleep wondering if purple necklaces can somehow work the same as her double-meaning words. She doesn’t think so, but she’s not too disturbed by the idea of telling Brittany everything. If Brittany can have her dreams, why not her words, too?)

By three o’clock the next day, Santana is out of her mind with anxiety. She needs Brittany home so she can smile and breathe out all of the tension she’s been building up, and it has been far too long since they’ve kissed. She doesn’t really remember how she got through months of Artie, but she metaphorically pats herself on the back anyway.

At four thirty she gives up and gets into her car, checking at least five times to make sure she’s got the necklace. The drive to Brittany’s house normally only takes ten minutes, but Santana drives as slow as she can without going backwards. She ignores the honks and rolls her eyes when the clock tells her she’s only wasted four extra minutes.

Brittany’s house looks different after a night of dreams. It looks like something Santana could touch, like the brick would feel brick-ier than any other brick; like the red roof is redder than any red roof on any house in the world. Santana sits and looks at it, thinking about the creak in the fourth step that they always avoid, and that tiny little dip in the living room floor that gets dangerous when they play Twister. She thinks about these things and realizes that she never really appreciates the fact that she knows them.

Santana gets out of the car at 4:52 and sits on Brittany’s porch. She knows that Brittany will tease her when they pull up, but Santana doesn’t care. She just wants Brittany home.

They pull up twenty minutes later and suddenly Santana’s heart is pounding and it would be so much easier to run except for the fact that everyone can see her and they’d all ask questions. So instead she stands up and nervously fidgets with her shirt.

Brittany barrels into her barely a second after she gets out of the car, and she smells like stale air and sunscreen and potato chips and vanilla, and Santana laughs.

“Good to see you too, B,” Santana jokes.

“I was only joking about you sitting on the porch,” Brittany yells. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it!”

“What, and miss a greeting like this? Never.”

“How long were you sitting there?”

Santana notices Brittany’s family piling out of their Ford and she lets go of Brittany. “I’ll explain later, B. Let’s go help your parents with the car.”

Brittany groans and pouts but she drags Santana along anyway.

They get the car emptied and Brittany’s mom tries to shoo Santana away like she does every time Santana helps with chores. And just like every time, Santana ignores her.

Brittany grabs cold sodas from the fridge and comes back outside when Santana makes no move to leave the porch. They sit on two ratty chairs and sip their drinks, exchanging small talk and stories. Santana thinks she could listen to Brittany tell stories all day.

“Okay, can it be Christmas now?” Brittany bounces in her seat, too excited for pleasantries anymore.

Santana laughs and puts a hand on Brittany’s leg to still her movement. She’s bound to break the chair at some point. “Of course. You wanna go first?”

Brittany nods and tells Santana to close her eyes. She does, feeling Brittany place something thin and firm into her outstretched hands. Her fingers are cool. Santana’s missed them.

“Don’t open your eyes yet. So I went to this pottery shop with my sister and you could make things and paint them and they’d fire them up for you. And they had all these pre-made things like suns and dogs and rainbows, and Emily just wanted to make them all but I couldn’t pick. And the lady at the shop, she had some extra clay and she said I could use it to make whatever I wanted and so I made you this.” Santana raises her eyebrow, silently asking if she’s allowed to look. “Okay, you can open your eyes now!” Brittany answers, clapping.

Santana peeks open an eye, and then both of them because the thing she’s holding is kind of odd. It’s three sticks in a cup. They’re tan with white and black dots, and it takes Santana a moment and a lot of squinting before she gets it.

“Britt,” she starts with a slow smile. “Are these…bread sticks?”

Brittany’s smile is sheepish. “Yeah, well, I thought that maybe, if you ever get tired of the real ones or you’ve just eaten too much, then, you know, you’ll always have these.”

Santana flits her gaze from the ceramic bread sticks to Brittany’s eyes. It’s a blur of tan and eager, earnest blue, and it swirls in her mind until it’s beaches and the sky and everything Santana wanted summer to be.

“I love you,” she blurts. “It’s a little crazy, actually, how much I love you. And I’m really sorry for taking so long and being so difficult, but it’s tough because it’s crazy. Because sometimes I think I’m going crazy and I don’t know if you’re the cause or the cure.” Santana digs around in her purse for the necklace, thankful that she can focus her eyes somewhere that isn’t Brittany. She can feel insanity bubbling.

The necklace is still in the crinkly bag it came in, and Santana thrusts it gracelessly at Brittany.

“Here. I got this for you at the mall because I couldn’t decide if I wanted to say sorry or ‘I love you,’ and then I found this and it kind of says both and I really hope you like it.”

Brittany opens the bag slowly, like she’s terrified of what’s inside. Her smile is gone and her eyes are wide and curious. When she finally gets to the necklace, Santana watches her eyes turn into twin oceans and she falls in love (again) so much that she just has to start talking.

“I know it’s a lot and I don’t want you to read too much into it because I’m still really scared and I don’t know if that will ever go away. But I want you to help me not be afraid, and I just wanted to give you something to show that. I’m not—I’m not ready for a lot of things, Britt, but I want to try. I just wanted to give you something special because you make me feel special. This necklace, it’s not a ring but it’s a promise that I’ll try to make you feel the same way.”

“Santana.”

“Yeah?”

Brittany smiles and then she bursts into tears, and all Santana can do is put the necklace on, shaking fingers or not. Brittany’s neck is wet and Santana kisses the tears away and she knows they’re happy tears because that’s what happens when you’re crazy in love.

Brittany kisses her until she can’t breathe and then she kisses her some more.

This was never part of Santana’s dreams, which means it must be real, and Santana smiles because she never has to wake up. So she kisses Brittany until the stars go out, fizzling like the last few flames in a bonfire, and when Mrs. Pierce ushers them inside early the next morning, Santana lays down next to Brittany and starts it all over again.


	7. Start Over

_(I feel I know what’s best for us, so let’s start over)_

“Brittany, baby. Wake up.” Her mom’s grip is soft on her shoulder, but she’s alert anyway. She opens her eyes to a purple sky, and she smiles goofily when she realizes that dawn is exactly the same shade as her necklace and maybe that’s a good sign. A really good sign.

Her mom laughs next to her ear. “Good dreams?” she asks.

“No,” Brittany sighs. “Good real things. What time is it?”

“Four forty five.”

Brittany snorts before she remembers that Santana is sound asleep next to her. “Jeez, Mom. What are you doing awake?”

“You know how I’m always there when you or Emily are sick in the middle of the night? It’s kind of like that. I’m your mom; I know these things.”

Brittany rubs her eyes and sits up. “Does that mean we have to come inside now?”

Her mom chuckles. “Well, I’d say no, but Santana is shivering, so yeah. I think that’d be a good idea. At least get a couple hours of sleep on your bed.”

“I’m fine right here,” Brittany says, snuggling back into Santana. If she’s shivering, Brittany will just have to be her blanket.

“Brittany, the last two places you’ve slept are a car and an old armchair. You need to get some real rest.”

(Brittany only relents because she’s teetering on the edge of her ‘Mom voice,’ and that voice means business).

“Okay.” She eases herself out of the chair and smiles at Santana curled up as tight as she can get. Brittany almost makes a move to carry her, but she realizes she really is as tired as her mom says she is. Sleeping in a chair probably wasn’t the smartest idea. Plus Santana completely overwhelmed her with feelings last night, and as awesome as that is, it’s also really _exhausting_. So instead of scooping Santana up like she wants to, she lightly pinches Santana’s stomach. It’s the only thing that ever rouses her from a deep sleep.

“What’s wrong, Britt?” Santana mumbles. “Do you not like the necklace?”

Brittany stifles a laugh; trust Santana to worry about the completely wrong thing even when she’s sleeping. Her laughter dies a little when she realizes her mom is staring at her neck. It’s not a disapproving stare, just a curious one. It’s still unsettling in the way that everything is when you realize that sometimes the people who pay attention to your love life are your parents.

“I love it,” Brittany is quick to reassure. “But you gotta get up. We need to go inside.”

“Can’t we just stay here?”

“No, come on. My bed is totally comfier than this chair.”

“‘Kay. Hey! Hey.” She tugs insistently on Brittany’s arm when the blonde starts to stand straight again. Santana is still half-asleep, but sometimes important things make their way to the front of your mind and become more important when you’re groggy and haven’t yet remembered to be afraid of them. “I gotta talk to your mom. Like, right now.”

Brittany looks up once again to find the curious look in her mother’s eyes. “Later, Santana,” Brittany says, never breaking eye contact. “Sleep for a bit and then you can talk to her, okay?” She’s really asking both of them, and her mom nods gently at the same time that Santana mumbles an okay.

Brittany pulls her up and leads her to Brittany’s bedroom, where she slumps onto the bed and falls asleep in seconds. Brittany is tired too, but she doesn’t want to fall asleep just yet. She thinks she has an idea of what Santana wants to talk about but she’s still confused. Santana said last night that she wasn’t ready and Brittany gets it. She understands that this is a tough thing for Santana and it’s not going to fix itself overnight. She doesn’t even need it to get fixed right away because Brittany knows that just the necklace was a huge thing for Santana. Tears prick at the back of her eyes when she realizes that Santana really isn’t ashamed of them anymore.

(It was the thing that made her saddest, the fact that Santana was ashamed. She could deal with the fear because Santana is scared of a lot of things and Brittany has a lot of experience with a scared Santana. But when there is anything about your life that you decide to hide, that means you’re ashamed of it, no matter the reason. Brittany was always disappointed that she was something Santana thought she had to hide.)

But the necklace gives her hope. Brittany knows that Santana won’t mind if she tells people who gave it to her, and when she smiles and says “Santana,” Quinn and Rachel and probably Mercedes will smile and understand. And it’s enough for now. Brittany believes Santana when she says that it’s a promise, and she’ll keep believing it until Santana lets her down. It’s how she always acts around Santana, and she’s got the worry lines to show for it. But Brittany’s hope is stronger this time, like even if someone stepped on it, it’d bite right back—and harder. She doesn’t think she has to worry about Santana letting her down this time.

Brittany watches Santana sleep. She watches the slope of her nose, the curve of her cheeks, the swell of her lips. Santana’s face sweeps in gentle arcs; she is a grassy field, swaying dandelions, Brittany’s favorite day at the beach when the waves never stop rolling. The avalanche has happened, she thinks, and someone has told Santana that she’s the most beautiful hill in the world. Brittany wants to find whoever that was and thank them until she runs out of words.

She falls asleep on her back, eyes closing with one last glance at her ceiling. It’s white and plain except for some glow-in-the-dark stars that Santana put up there when they were thirteen and bored. Santana made the Ursa Major and Minor constellations, and Brittany teased her about the fact that they were obvious choices. ( _“Really, San?” she’d joked. “I can see those every night from my window,” and she’d stuck to that until Santana explained everything_ ).

See, the thing about Ursa Major was that it was about more than bears. Santana told her that the big one was this chick who got knocked up by Zeus and kicked out of Artemis’s special club. And Zeus’s wife was super pissed so she turned her into a bear. But she had the kid anyway and when he grew up he almost killed her while he was out hunting. But Zeus intervened again and turned them both into stars so the son wouldn’t kill his mom.

Brittany asked Santana why she liked that story so much, and Santana blushed and said, “I dunno; it make me think of you. If there’s anyone I’d want to be a star with, it’s you, Britt-Britt.”

(Later, Brittany had looked up the myth because she wanted to write it down and remember it forever, and she found out that Santana had left out a little bit. Hera was so mad at Zeus that she fixed it so that the bears could never touch the ocean; they always just wheeled around the sky, constantly in motion. Brittany had frowned when she realized why that made Santana think of her—it was like Santana thought she was unreachable, when all Brittany wanted to do was let her know she was alright to touch. That Brittany wanted to be touched and she would let Santana touch her. One of these days, Brittany will make Santana realize that they can be stars together on the ground just as well as they could be in the sky, and it’s better because you can’t ever really touch the sky).

Brittany wakes up to find Santana smiling at her, and it’s like looking into a perfect puddle of chocolate or coffee or a root beer float that Brittany doesn’t float in so much as drown. Santana’s eyes are smiling, not just her mouth, and Brittany leans in for a kiss before thinking about her open door or what Santana might do. But it turns out that she doesn’t have to worry because Santana kisses her back and it doesn’t sound like anyone is walking around in the hall.

“Hi,” Brittany whispers when they pull away.

“Hi,” Santana echoes, smiling.

She wants to make jokes and talk about silly things and feel in love, but Brittany is thinking that maybe she needs to let Santana know for sure that they’re so much more than bears and stars that never meet. So instead she finds Santana’s hands under the sheets and holds them and tries to ignore the slightly-panicked look in Santana’s eye, like someone plopped an ice cube in the coffee and made ripples.

“San, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” Santana breathes, nodding too quickly.

“I know this is really hard and scary for you, and I know you’re trying. I want you to know how proud I am of you. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. Sometimes I don’t think I’m being fair to you because loving you and letting people know about it is really easy for me, and I forget that you’re not the same. But then sometimes I also think that you’re not being fair to me, that sometimes you’d rather stay still than move because we might not move in a direction you like.” She plays with her necklace, fingering the smooth gem and letting its cool surface calm her. “I used to get really sad when I thought about how scared you were, but then you gave me this and I don’t know what to think anymore. And I love you so much and I don’t want you to be sad and I don’t want to be confused, so can I just call a do-over? Can we just start completely over and you don’t have to be afraid and I won’t be pushy?”

Santana’s eyes are wet, like when the ice cream mixes with the root beer and makes runny goop. “Brittany, I…” Brittany sighs and Santana is quick to reassure her with a kiss to her hands. “No, it’s good, I promise,” she clarifies. She takes a deep breath before continuing. “I was thinking the exact same thing,” she says shyly. “I’m not, I mean, I don’t know if I can do kisses in the hallway or holding hands, but, well, I was thinking maybe I could start with your mom? I know she probably already knows because I think she saw us one night when you were sleeping, and I know she’s not my mom and so it’s not really a lot, but…”

“Santana.” Brittany stops her with a kiss and they both giggle. “I think that would be perfect. It would really mean a lot to me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Brittany says. Her throat suddenly feels two sizes too small and she thinks she might have swallowed molasses or honey or just stuffed her mouth with fudge because it’s really hard to get words out. “It would mean a lot,” she finally chokes out. She plays with Santana’s fingers instead of looking at her because this is one of those times where chocolate eyes would infiltrate all of her organs and melt her from the inside out. “I’ve wanted to be with you since freshman year,” she admits, “and all I can think about is kissing you after class and I think you can do it. Maybe not right away, but this is senior year and it has to be perfect and you’ve always been perfect to me. So that means you can do it. It’s, like, the transitive property of love or something.”

Santana laughs and kisses Brittany’s nose. “You’re such a nerd, B.”

“Yeah, well, you love it.” She smiles as wide as she can. “Anyway, my answer is yes. You can start with my mom. She’s probably waiting for you downstairs anyway.”

Santana furrows her brows. “Why?” Then the ball drops and she bugs out her eyes. “Oh, don’t tell me she was there this morning while I was mumbling.” Brittany almost stifles her laugh. “Oh my god,” Santana groans. “That’s mortifying.”

“I think it’s kind of cute,” Brittany grins. It’s even cuter when Santana looks down, embarrassed.

“Yeah, well, you’re biased.” Santana slides off the bed and stretches, cracking her back. Brittany just watches, enthralled.

/

She knows this conversation between Santana and her mom is a private one and she knows she told Santana she’d wait upstairs, but Brittany never has been one to miss an opportunity to be proud of Santana. So she waits until she can hear Santana walking around in the kitchen and then she sneaks down (skipping the creaky fourth step, of course).

Her mom is in the middle of making a comment about Santana’s hair, and Brittany smiles because she’s said the same thing lots of mornings. Santana has the most amazing bedhead.

“Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. P,” Santana is saying, and Brittany smiles because she’s always business casual when it comes to her mom. Santana thinks it’s weird to call parents by their first names, except for Quinn’s. When they’re at Quinn’s house, it’s Judy this and Judy that because Santana is usually mocking her. But with Brittany’s mom it’s always Mrs. P. Brittany is going to have to break her of that habit if Santana’s necklace means what she thinks it does.

Apparently her mom thinks the same thing, because she rebuffs the name and makes a joke that Brittany is sure embarrasses Santana.

“So, what is it exactly that you wanted to talk to me about?” Brittany’s mom prompts, and Brittany practically feels the air change. It’s like it’s full of static, like her mom’s words are charged and ready to zap anyone who says the wrong thing.

Santana clears her throat before answering. “I wanted to apologize,” she says, and that wasn’t what Brittany was expecting at all. “I know it’s been a rough couple of months and Brittany’s been upset, and most of it is probably my fault.”

“Yeah,” her mom quietly answers. Brittany deals with emotions a lot like her mom does—frankly, without any preamble or beating around the bush. It’s best to just get everything out there and be honest because then you won’t have anything to apologize for.

(Santana is still learning that).

“Yeah,” Santana repeats. “Anyway, I have to tell you this thing about me because I want you to know me and understand and because it’s important to Brittany.” Brittany steps quickly from the stairs to the door outside the kitchen, thankful for her feather-light dancer’s feet. She can see Santana and her mom reflected in the mirror across from the kitchen table. Santana looks up at her mom and her eyes are frank and Brittany almost squeals. “Brittany and I are together,” she finally says.

“I know,” her mom replies.

Santana nods, expecting the response. “But I don’t think you really do,” she explains. “Brittany loves everyone and she always shows it, and that’s one of the best things about her and I wish I could be the same. But it’s hard for me to say stuff and so instead I keep everything inside and it all just kind of festers and keeps going deeper until I’m completely filled with it. And that’s how I feel about Brittany, like she’s every part of me, like she’s in my fingers and toes and I don’t know what it means to move without her. And I’ve kind of come to realize that I don’t ever want to know. So I just wanted to say sorry for taking so long to figure everything out, but I’m here for good now. It’s not like we’re going to get married tomorrow or anything, but I’ll be here so it’s going to happen someday. I just really wanted you to know that.”

Brittany watches as her mom dips her head and sniffles. Santana’s face is petrified when she doesn’t immediately speak up. Santana is expecting a reaction like Brittany, where she just blurts everything out because it's all so much and when everything is that much the only thing she can do is let someone else know it, too. But Brittany’s mom is different. She’s a mom. Any show of emotion turns her into a blubbering fool, especially from someone whom Brittany knows she considers as a third daughter.

“Santana, sweetheart,” her mom starts. She pulls Santana’s chair closer to hers and puts an arm around her, kissing her temple. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “Thank you so much.”

Santana scoots her chair out so she can wrap Brittany’s mom in a tight hug, and Brittany has to walk away before she cries and lets them know she was listening the whole time.

She leaves Santana a note on her bed—“I’m sure my mom talked your ear off; take a nap and we’ll cuddle when I get back”—and goes for a run. It’s less of a run and more a jog to the park, and after that she just sits and thinks and cries a little. Brittany had always chalked this up to a dream, this idea of a forever with Santana, and hearing the words is a lot to take in. She feels a little like she imagines Santana must feel all the time, excited and in love and scared. Sometimes good things, the best, most important things we want, can be scary. It’s scary how happy Santana makes her because what if she makes her that sad? And when they move in together, what if she doesn’t care about the sad parts as long as she’s got Santana to cuddle at night? If she forgets the sad things, how will she tell the happy apart? Brittany gets scared when she realizes that Santana has the power to unravel every emotion she’s ever felt, and Brittany is pretty sure she’s felt all of them. She’s even more confused when the idea of being unraveled by Santana completely thrills her, too.

In the end, she shelves the matter for another day, for if they come to a point where they’re both unraveling. And maybe it won’t be so bad as long as they’re doing it together. She gets up from the bench and runs home, suddenly feeling very far away from her favorite pair of forever-arms.

Instead of sleeping, Santana is sitting in Brittany’s backyard, and when Brittany comes running through the grass, Santana smiles a watery smile. Brittany is next to her in an instant, letting Santana rest her head on her shoulder. Santana cries a tiny pool of tears into her skin and Brittany just kisses her head and rubs her arms and waits. It feels like Santana’s tears are cleaning everything.

When Brittany adds her own into the mix, it’s kind of the coolest bath she’s ever taken. She hasn’t ever felt so refreshed or loved. 


	8. Love on Top

( _it’s worth after fighting through my tears, and finally you put me first_ )

Brittany thinks this might be the best summer she’s ever had. She hopes (knows, really), that she’ll have a lot more like it, but this one was special first. This is the first summer that really matters, and you always remember your first. Brittany smiles when she realizes that when it comes to all the firsts that really mean anything, hers were always with Santana. She tries to stop her heart from beating out of turn at the idea of all of her lasts being Santana’s, too.

It’s the best summer Brittany’s ever had, and she barely has to leave her house. Santana is always there, and this time they can snuggle on the couch and no one will think twice. Santana kisses the top of her head and blushes when Brittany’s mom catches them. And instead of scooting back like Brittany still expects her to, Santana pulls her in closer. And late in August, when Santana comes to a Pierce family barbecue and kisses her under the stars—a drunken kiss because they snuck beers but Brittany thinks everyone can tell anyway; a sloppy kiss because Brittany’s face is sticky from s’mores and the beer makes Santana miss her lips a little bit; a hot kiss because the fire is pushing against their cheeks and Santana wraps her arms around Brittany and they’re both squishy and warm in sweatshirts—Brittany has to stop herself from crying again. She’s cried far too much this summer, even if they are happy tears. But she just can’t believe how lucky they are, how amazing it is that Santana has more than proved herself.

And it’s not like it was ever a competition or test. Brittany always just waited for Santana to understand what it meant to be honest, how it wasn’t scary or insecure or weak. Brittany knows that Santana loves her exactly the same way she loves Santana, and she loves Santana like the sky is blue or like her hair is blond or like breathing. It’s not something she has to be scared of because it’s not something she could ever change. But Santana always thought she had to make a point, like she had to be better for Brittany when all Brittany ever wanted was for her to just be in love. And it might only be around Brittany’s family, these people that Santana sees so infrequently that she’s not afraid of them, but this summer is the best because Santana spends the last six weeks in love with her—happily, unapologetically in love with her.

It’s still a little frustrating because Santana won’t hold her hand when they hang out with Rachel or Kurt or Mercedes or any of the other glee kids. Once, Brittany snapped and said “It’s just Glee, Santana. They like you even though you yell at them sometimes, so why would they care about us?” But Santana had glared at her, scared and angry and little, and told her that Glee mattered the most and that’s why it was hard. Brittany frowned and thought about it for a while, and she came to the conclusion that Santana was embarrassed for not having told everyone earlier, for putting it off until she had to make a big spectacle about it and share her feelings and Rachel would probably go berserk with the pathos of it all. Brittany realized that Santana is embarrassed to admit that she has feelings and sometimes she’s not the bitch that everyone gets, and so she kissed Santana’s forehead and made her some popcorn. The frustration still hasn’t gone away, but she’s learned not to expect too much. She’s learned to let Santana come to her, because (as she’s proven recently) she always will.

Instead, she lets herself live in the summer bubble where Santana kisses her and makes her cookies and sits at her now-regular place at the dinner table. It’s a world where Santana calls her mom by her first name (finally) and her mom doesn’t shoo Santana away anymore. Instead, she asks Santana to set the table or do the dishes, or can Santana please run out to the store to get some milk because she really wanted to make scrambled eggs and they don’t taste the same without it. It’s a world where sometimes Brittany wakes up to Santana sleeping next to her and sometimes she wakes up to an empty bed but instead of running away, Santana is downstairs putting a puzzle together with her little sister.

This is the world that Brittany’s always dreamed of.

Things are perfect until a week and a half before school starts again. Then Santana’s smiles get thin; she picks up her summer reading and yells at it before she’s even five pages in; she starts gorging herself on ice cream so much that Brittany’s mom jokingly asks if she’s pregnant and Santana chokes for a full three minutes. Brittany stays away even though she wants to push because she promised Santana that she wouldn’t. And it’s agonizing in its temptation, like that last donut in a box meant for everyone when you’ve already had three but it’s Boston crème and those are your favorite. This is the first time in her life that Brittany doesn’t reach for the donut, metaphorical or not.

She smiles when Santana sighs while they’re in bed. Brittany has learned to classify Santana’s sighs, and the ones that come after ten thirty are just for Brittany, and that means they’re feelings and confessions.

(Even if they mean bad feelings, these are always Brittany’s favorite sighs).

Santana presses her cheek into her pillow and keeps her eyes trained on Brittany’s shoulder. She’s been doing that a lot lately, just looking at parts of Brittany. Or maybe she’s always been doing it and Brittany just hasn’t noticed. Santana _is_ kind of sneaky sometimes. Mostly she looks at Brittany’s shoulders when they’re in bed, or Brittany’s neck when Brittany is playing with her sister, or at her ankles when they’re actually attempting some of the summer homework or leafing through college brochures. Brittany tries not to blush every time she catches Santana staring, but she kind of just ends up turning redder.

“Are you okay, San?” she asks softly. It doesn’t seem right to talk loudly when the wind is whispering a breeze that ruffles Santana’s hair in the most graceful way.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. She doesn’t even have to look up at Brittany to know that she’s not buying it. “No,” she corrects. “I’m scared. I don’t want to go back to school. This summer has been kind of awesome.” She smiles like she knows how much of an understatement that is.

“Yeah, it has,” Brittany breathes. She presses a quick kiss to Santana’s nose and smiles back at her. “I know you’re scared. Senior year is kind of terrifying, and that’s just for regular people. And you and me, we’re not regular people, so it might be even scarier. But I’ll always be there with you when things get to be too much.”

Santana’s eyes are wide and they look out of place beneath puzzled brows, and Brittany is struck anew by just how much Santana always surprises her. She loves things that Brittany doesn’t even notice; she hates the things she shouldn’t; she always laughs at everything Brittany does even when Brittany isn’t trying to be funny, and Brittany never expects just how rich and happy Santana’s laugh is.

“Britt, I just…” She sighs again, thinking of how best to express herself, and Brittany feels special because these are words meant just for her. “I want senior year to be perfect. I want to win Nationals with Glee and rub it in every single Vocal Adrenaline member’s face. I want to win Nationals with Cheerios and finally tell Sue that she’s a raging, psychotic bitch but I’m really grateful to her. I want to kick ass at all my classes and get into a good college and I want to do it all with you. I want to kiss you when one of us gets a really good grade on a test or when Rachel sings some super cheesy love song and that way I don’t have to barf at the look on Treebeard’s face. But I don’t know how to let myself do that. I don’t know if I can.”

Brittany’s heart is somewhere around her knees. It’s completely liquefied and it’s warming her in all the right places and she wants to touch Santana all over so she can feel those places, too. But Santana has shared words with her that no one else is ever going to hear, so the least Brittany can do is return the favor.

“I can teach you, you know,” she says. Santana looks confused, and Brittany continues explaining. “Oh, yeah!” She nods too eagerly and Santana giggles. “It’s super easy if you want to learn. All you have to do is smile like I know you want to when Rachel sings or when Mr. Schue goes on and on about how we’re special and even though it’s super lame and you never listen, it still means something to you. I can tell because you won’t look at anyone.”

“I always want to look at you,” Santana whispers.

“Yeah, I know that, too,” Brittany replies. “San, you don’t have to worry so much.” She scoots closer and tangles their legs under the covers, hooking her ankles around Santana’s left foot. Maybe it’s an unconscious attempt to prevent Santana from escaping. Or maybe Brittany just loves being close to her. “There’s nothing more I want from you right now. You said you’re going to try, and I believe you. And I want to help you do it.”

“It’s not like you can force me, Britt. There’s a reason this is so hard.”

“I know. I don’t want to.” Brittany shrugs. “Start small. Hold my hand under our history desks because Mrs. Hagberg never pays attention. Don’t look away when I smile at you for doing something adorable. Sit next to me in Glee and _stay_ sitting next to me when someone sings a love song. I’m not expecting you to be Superman, Santana.”

Santana looks down and Brittany can see her ears get red. “I want to be your Superman,” she mumbles.

Brittany feels her toes tingle and her heart squeeze and she thinks she might have broken her smile. “Santana, don’t you know that you’re better than Superman? Superman is great and he can stop bullets and cars and fly, but he’s the only one who can do that stuff. He’s lonely and he’ll always be lonely. But you won’t because you have me. You’re better than Superman because you’re real and you don’t have to scoop me up and take me flying to make me feel like I’m on top of the world.” Santana’s eyes are wet and Brittany thinks that might have been too much. “Besides, I bet you’re totally a better singer than Superman. All that flying probably dries out his lips.”

Santana smirks and drags her eyes up to meet Brittany’s. “Well, that would be a real shame,” she draws out. “Having perpetually dry lips. Must suck for Lois.”

“See, aren’t you glad you’re not Superman? It’s totally better to be Santana.”

Santana rolls her eyes in mock exasperation. “I guess,” she teases. “But we should probably test that.”

“How?” Instead of answering, Santana leans in and kisses her, slow and deep like there isn’t any rush and she isn’t preparing to bolt. Santana kisses her like she still can’t believe gets to, and Brittany kisses back to tell her that she doesn’t ever want her to stop. “Mmm,” she hums when they pull apart. “Definitely not dry. I’m afraid you’re not Superman.”

“Good.” Santana burrows deeper under the sheets and rests her head on Brittany’s chest. Her cheek is flush against Brittany’s heart and as Brittany lies there, she realizes that she can’t tell where her heartbeat stops and Santana’s pulse begins. She thinks that maybe they aren’t really separate at all, that maybe when she and Santana lay like this, they sort of plug into each other and they’re like electricity—you could pull apart the electrons if you tried hard enough, but why would you want to?

Brittany is almost asleep when Santana speaks again. Her voice is quiet, almost reverent.

“I’m going to kiss you in the hallway someday, Britt,” she says. Brittany can feel her words vibrate in her chest. “There will be a day this year so awesome that all I want to do is kiss my super-hot girlfriend in front of everyone. And it’s not that I won’t care. I’ll care so much that I’ll want everyone to see because I’m so proud of you.”

Brittany has to swallow before she responds. “You promise?” she gurgles.

“I promise,” Santana sighs, and then she falls asleep.

Brittany believes her.


	9. Countdown

( _still the one I need, I will always be with you_ )

**four.**

 

The first day of school is surreal to Santana. She gets up at six o’clock at her own house. She doesn’t have to cycle through the small set of clothes that sits in Brittany’s unused dresser drawer. She takes a shower in her own bathroom, gets in her own car, and drives to the house that she’s begun to call home. And when Brittany gets in with a smile on her face, Santana’s falters. Because this isn’t June anymore and they’re not going on a picnic or to the mall or to one of Puck’s parties. They’re going to school and other people will be there, people that Santana actually doesn’t like—not just the ones she pretends not to like, like the Glee club. She grabs Brittany’s hand across the center console and thinks about the fact that at least there are twelve people who marginally like her and might want to help her make senior year great.

But then one of those twelve people isn’t there anymore, and it was the most important one, the other blonde in Santana’s life, and suddenly things start to unravel. People are broken. Success has a time limit.

And when she gets kicked out of Glee, Santana thinks that perfection is edging its way out of reality and back into her dreams.

/

**three.**

 

Brittany is the one thing that makes sense about Santana’s life, except it gets kind of confusing as the year goes on. Santana isn’t really prepared for how upset she actually is about not being in Glee. It kind of throws everything for a loop, because how is she supposed to get through boring things like history and math when she doesn’t have a fun thing like Glee to look forward to? Plus, it’s an hour that she doesn’t get to see Brittany, and Santana spends that hour moping. Everything else kind of gets pushed to the back burner because Santana is just so damn sad and she feels guilty that Brittany is still always there to comfort her. And Santana is waiting for Brittany to get fed up, for her to pressure Santana like she did last year, except it never comes. Santana starts to think that Brittany’s given up for the moment, or at least gotten used to disappointment, and that’s why she has to ask if they’re dating.

Because it doesn’t feel like they are. Santana forgets to hold her hand and she can’t sit next to her in Glee anymore, and Brittany doesn’t push so Santana doesn’t know where they stand. She’s always flourished under a healthy dose of pressure, only this time Brittany isn’t pressuring. It drives Santana so crazy that she actually has to do the thing she hates and ask about feelings.

And when Brittany tells her that they are dating, Santana thinks that instead of comparing her imperfect senior year to the fantasy she’s created, she might just want to adjust her idea of perfection.

/

**two.**

 

(She does that a lot—adjust.

Santana is in the Troubletones but Brittany isn’t, so she adjusts.

Finn Hudson makes her scared again but Brittany is there, so she adjusts.

They don’t win Sectionals but Brittany is still there, so she adjusts.

She does so much adjusting that eventually she’s right back where she started and so is Brittany.

So Santana smiles and holds her hand and this still wasn’t the perfect she had imagined, but it’s pretty damn good.)

/

**one.**

 

Brittany is right. Brittany is always right. She told Santana that if she was honest, everything would be okay. That the rest of the school wouldn’t care and they would embrace her for it. And, like, there was that terrible time where Jolly Green Giant’s idiocy ruined a couple weeks, and that douche from the rugby team kind of made her panic, but for the most part it’s been okay. More than okay, actually. Some girl in her history class actually started to flirt with her, and instead of snapping back at her or slapping her, Santana laughed. Not to be mean, though she felt bad when the girl frowned, but because why would she flirt with anyone else when she has Brittany? It was funny that someone else thought she had a shot.

So Santana starts to open up a little, because she realizes that Brittany’s point about being honest wasn’t only about them. Santana cares about everyone in the Glee club, so she finds Sam when he comes back and tells him as much. She sings a song with Rachel Berry. She hugs Finn (quickly though, because she’s pretty sure his pasty skin is radioactive).

And when Blaine gets slushied so hard he has to go to the hospital, Santana finds that she’s actually worried. That she cares what happens to him, and she’s mad at Sebastian not because he’s a douche but because he hurt her friend. There is only one law of the jungle when it comes to Santana Lopez, and it’s that you don’t touch any of her friends if you want to live. You don’t touch anyone she even looks at because you don’t know if they’re her friend or not, but you _especially_ don’t touch her friends.

But she doesn’t know what to do about it because she’s not really good at being friends with anyone other than Brittany or Quinn, so she asks Brittany what to do one night. She has this idea that she’d be overstepping a line, that helping Blaine might make people think she has ulterior motives, like they did when she helped Kurt come back to McKinley. And Santana really doesn’t want them to think that. For the first time, she actually wants people to know her, to understand that she has values and rules and feelings just like they do. This time she’d be hurt if anyone thought ill of her, and she wants to do this right.

Brittany tells her that she doesn’t have to do anything really special, that she doesn’t have to prove herself. She suggests going to Kurt first because at least he’ll listen completely.

“Remember when Kurt’s dad had his heart attack?” Brittany asks. Santana simply nods. “Remember how we gave him that card? He didn’t think anything bad about you or ask you why. This is kind of the same thing. You don’t have to pity him because that’s condescending sometimes and Blaine’s not dying, but he won’t yell at you just for being nice. I think when bad things happen, you get a freebie. Like, even if you’re the worst person normally, you can be nice to someone and they won’t question it because that’s what they really want. They just want to feel like people are on their side.”

“You think I’m the worst person?” Santana asks. She’s smiling and mostly joking, but it’s still going to take some time before she stops assuming that one day, Brittany will realize that she’s not good enough.

Brittany chuckles and nudges her shoulder. “No, silly. I was just trying to explain.”

Santana laughs. “I know. Just teasing.”

So when she tells Kurt that they’re going to beat Sebastian fair and square, it’s kind of a big deal. And when Kurt lets her help him and doesn’t question her motives, Santana thinks she won’t doubt anything Brittany says ever again.

/

**zero.**

 

It’s Valentine’s Day that screws everything up. See, Santana’s never really had a proper valentine. She made Puck buy her ridiculously expensive jewelry every year, even when he was dating Lauren, but she never even thought to return the favor. And it’s not like she and Brittany had ever really celebrated it either. Santana had all of these rules, and the biggest one was to keep Brittany at bay. And the easiest way to do that was to avoid any and all instances of feelings. So even though Santana really, _really_ wanted to give Britt something cheesy and romantic, she never did. She just accepted Brittany’s teddy bears and candy hearts in an ironic, “Isn’t this totally lame?” kind of way, even though she knew Brittany really meant them.

She’d avoided Valentine’s gifts because she’d never really been in a real relationship, but now that she is, she doesn’t know what to do. She’s already gotten Brittany a necklace, and that was kind of a “Please be with me forever” necklace, so really what more can she do? Brittany knows that Santana loves her. But Santana knows that she can’t just ignore Valentine’s Day because it will mean a lot, a fact which is only confirmed when Brittany makes her the most adorable playlist in the world.

So Santana sits and thinks and comes to the conclusion that there is really only one question she needs to ask herself.

What would Rachel Berry do?

If there’s one shining example of clichéd, cheesy love, it’s Rachel Berry. She’s all about the happy endings, the Broadway drama. She probably loves _Full House_ because everything is resolved quickly with hugs and patronizing lessons. Santana spends a good fifteen minutes thinking about Rachel Berry (something she never, ever thought she would do) and all she can come up with is singing. Which is so obviously perfect that she doesn’t even consider it as an option at first.

But Finn sends Rachel a love song and Santana thinks that maybe there is something good to be said about a spectacle. Spectacles bring attention. They let other people see what’s important to you, and the most important thing to Santana has always been Brittany. So Santana doesn’t send Brittany a song because it’s cheesy and romantic. She sends Brittany a song because it’s what Brittany’s always wanted—to feel validated in front of their friends. It isn’t about Santana proving anything to Finn or the rest of the school by shoving her relationship in their faces. It’s about Santana saying, “Yes, Brittany. You’re right. I love you and that’s a really great part of me and I want everyone else to know it. I want people to understand how proud I am to have you and how awesome we are together.” The way to Brittany’s heart, Santana realizes, is through celebration.

(She’s still pleasantly surprised when she gets her song.

She’s even more surprised when it actually works).

Brittany smiles and dances with her and kisses her and then everyone sings along to “Love Shack.” Just like that, they switch. Like it’s a normal thing, like Santana’s profession of love for Brittany is just like Rachel’s or Finn’s or Tina’s and Santana is ridiculously happy.

Brittany is, too; she’s smiling and laughing the whole night more than Santana’s ever seen, and it’s infectious. Valentine’s Day is suddenly fun and Santana gets why people make a big deal out of it. It’s a lame, sappy holiday, sure—but it makes you feel good. Santana forgets about all the shitty Valentine’s Days she’s had because this one eclipses them all ten times over.

So when Brittany starts crying on the car ride home, Santana is confused. She replays the day, trying to find the part where it went wrong. It was kind of inevitable, given that she’s not really well-versed in romance, but she figured she could make up for that with some really hot Valentine’s Day sex (because _that_ is an area in which Santana positively excels). It sucks that her gift didn’t take, but a tiny part of her was kind of expecting it.

“I’m sorry, Britt,” she immediately apologizes. And she is. Santana is already brainstorming a million ways to make next Valentine’s Day exactly what Brittany wants.

“For what?”

“For making you sad. I should have gotten you something better. I’ll make it up to you next year; I promise.”

Brittany chuckles and it turns into hysterical laughter and then she’s kind of crying and laughing at the same time and Santana thinks she might have lost her mind a little bit.

“Santana,” Brittany says after she calms down, “do you know what we were doing this time last year? I was dating Artie and you were giving Finn mono. And we were totally miserable. Don’t you recognize happy tears when you see them?”

Santana’s smile spreads across her face slowly as Brittany kisses her hand. “I guess not,” she jokes. “You should probably keep crying so I know what they look like.”

“Goofball,” Brittany hiccups. “Pull over.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to kiss you but I’d rather not crash.”

Brittany kisses her and it’s wet and salty and the absolute best. This still isn’t the senior year that Santana had in mind.

But it’s kind of perfect.


	10. End of Time

( _you go, I go, we go, that’s all she wrote_ )

Awesome things start happening all at once and Brittany is kind of overwhelmed. The Troubletones rejoin Glee. Santana kisses her in front of everyone. New Directions wins Regionals.

And then Disco Week happens and completely throws Brittany for a loop. She’s gotten herself used to the idea of Santana singing love songs to her because that’s really all she wanted from the beginning. And so it still makes her smile but it isn’t a big deal anymore, mostly because Santana doesn’t sing in private and treat it like a big deal.

But it is a big deal when Santana says that Brittany will be her girlfriend forever. Because Brittany’s thought about it and she’s pretty sure Santana has, but they haven’t ever talked about it. And so it’s all Brittany can do to say “Score” in response because if she didn’t, she’s pretty sure she’d cry instead. So she puts all thoughts of tears to the back of her mind and works on making Santana realize that she believes in forever, too. She finally makes Santana see how ridiculous her idea of fame is. It isn’t that Santana won’t ever be famous, because she should be—it’s just that her methods are flawed. She’s looking for the wrong kind of fame. So Brittany makes her believe that and then she pulls out the scholarship she’s been working on for a while. (Sue had to help her with the forms because Brittany doesn’t know Santana’s social security number and she’s really bad at forging signatures. Even hers changes a lot because she doesn’t always remember what it’s supposed to look like).

When Santana looks at her, surprised again because Brittany still loves her, Brittany thinks she sees a light bulb go off behind her eyes. Like someone has finally turned on the forever-switch in Santana’s brain.

They walk out of Sue’s office hand in hand, quiet because Santana is probably still processing and Brittany doesn’t know if she’s about to get in trouble. Even if this was a good one, Santana doesn’t really like it when they keep secrets from each other. Brittany thinks she’s still a little sensitive about how many secrets she used to keep.

They don’t even talk when they get in Santana’s car. Santana drives them in complete silence to Brittany’s house, and Brittany spends the entire car ride freaking out. Obviously Santana is mad at her because she’s just made this huge decision without consulting her and that’s why she isn’t talking and Brittany’s just ruined senior year for good and if she could she would totally take it back. Except she wouldn’t because Santana, for whatever reason, still needs to be shown that she’s worth more than sleazy fame. If Brittany had to make her mad to show her that, then she’d do it all over again. It’s worth it if Santana finally realizes what Brittany’s known all along.

Santana gets a bowl of chips and two chocolate milks when they get home, and as they settle down to watch TV, Brittany thinks that maybe she’s overreacted. If Santana was really mad she’d be yelling like last year when that stuff in the newspaper came out. So Brittany steals the chip that Santana was holding and grabs her hand and smiles when Santana laughs.

“You’re such a weirdo,” Santana says.

“But I’m _your_ weirdo,” Brittany replies.

Santana’s “yes” sounds heavy. It’s the kind of yes that you say when someone asks you “Do you love her?” or “Are you lying to me?” Brittany can’t tell if it’s a good or bad yes, so she does what she always does when she’s confused: she asks. Luckily, she’s sitting right next to the person who always tries her best to answer Brittany’s questions.

“San, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, baby.” Santana mutes their show and looks at Brittany. “What’s up?”

“Did you mean what you said when you sang that song?”

Santana furrows her brows. “I thought we talked about this. I don’t want that kind of fame anymore. You changed my mind. I have seen the light,” she says dramatically.

“No, that’s not what I meant. When you were talking to Mr. Schue and you said we’d be girlfriends forever. Did you mean that?”

Santana is surprised again, but in that way where you can’t believe someone doesn’t know something, like all the words to “I Want it That Way” or whatever. “Yeah, of course I did,” she says. “Do you…I mean, do you not—”

“No, of course I do. _Of course_ I do, Santana,” Brittany is quick to reassure. “I just…I don’t think you’ve ever said it before. I just wanted to make sure.”

Santana turns off the television and Brittany sits up because this might be the most important conversation they’ve ever had. Santana takes Brittany’s hands in hers and looks down shyly before speaking, and Brittany can feel her heart speed up. “Brittany, I love you more than anything in this world,” Santana starts. “I know sometimes I get scared and angry, but whenever I do I think about you and how much you love me and how you’re always going to be around to help me not be angry or so scared. And it’s kind of cheesy, falling in love with your high school sweetheart, but it happens, right? I mean, my mom and dad have been together since college and that’s only four years off. So yeah, we’ll be together forever. And maybe I was lying a little bit when I said girlfriend because someday I hope you’ll be my wife. Okay?”

“Okay,” Brittany nods. Santana moves to turn the television on again but Brittany stops her. “Wait, Santana. Don’t turn it back on yet.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you always make these romantic speeches and I never get to.”

Santana smiles and curls up her legs, turning toward Brittany and sitting sideways on the couch. She focuses her gaze on Brittany and Brittany almost blushes because all she can see is love. “Okay. I’m listening, B,” Santana says confidently, and Brittany knows she is.

“I know you know that I love you,” Brittany says, and Santana smiles and nods, urging her on. “But I don’t think I’ve ever told you just how much. Like, all I ever wanted was to be with you in school because it would make both of us so happy. And now we are and I keep having these dreams where we’re always together. Because I want to do all the important stuff with you, like get married and have kids and get a house, but I want to do the stupid stuff, too. I want to go grocery shopping with you and I’d pick out some Pop-Tarts and you’d look at me like, “Really, Britt?” and I’d smile and get them anyway. Or maybe you’d tell me we need olive oil for when our parents visit the next weekend. And I just want to sit on the floor and play Scrabble with you or cook with you or maybe you’d be a little frustrated because I don’t always remember to pay the cable bill but I’d smile anyway because we pay bills together. I just didn’t know if I should tell you all of that because I didn’t know if it would freak you out. And it sounds kind of silly.”

“It’s not silly, Britt.” Santana’s crying again. It’s kind of funny how Brittany is the one who’s totally in tune with her feelings, but Santana’s the one who’s always crying. “It sounds perfect. And just to be completely clear, I want all of that with you too, okay?”

“Even the kids?”

“Let's not get too ahead of ourselves, Britt-Britt,” Santana laughs. “But yes. Even the little munchkins. I want _all_ of it,” she emphasizes.

It’s Brittany’s turn to cry and if you asked her what they were watching when Santana flipped the TV back on, she couldn’t tell you if her life depended on it.

/

A week later, when they do Whitney, Brittany tries her best to make Santana smile. Santana’s kind of sad because it’s getting really close to the end of the year and suddenly all of her dreams are actually about to be tested. Two National titles are at stake, but most importantly, high school is ending. High school is going to end, and that’s a pretty scary thought. Brittany isn’t sure if Santana liked high school all the time, but that doesn’t matter because soon she won’t have it anymore. It’s kind of like they’ve been away at camp and at first they all complained about it, but when it came time to get on the bus back home, nobody wanted to leave. It’s like, even if they didn’t like everyone they went to school with, they’re still sort of family. They’ve created these little environments in each class where it’s okay to joke with the nerds because they’re doing science experiments and group projects with you. Even if they don’t _know_ you, they still know you. And that’s going to be over soon. Change is hard.

If she’s being honest, Brittany is trying to stay positive for herself, too. She watches Santana practice “How Will I Know?” with Rachel, Kurt, and Mercedes, and she’s glad she doesn’t have to watch them actually sing it. If she saw all of them dressed up and looking so serious, it would be too much. She was with Kurt when he tried on his suit, and she had to take a moment before she told him it looked great. And while he joked back with “Of course it does; I’m flawless,” Brittany thought about how grown up he looked, how he’d grown into his soft cheeks and baby face and turned into a man. It hit her really hard that her chances to hang out with the Glee kids were quickly diminishing. They were graduating high school and it wasn’t like when they graduated eighth grade and took their middle school friends with them. They didn’t have little bits of familiarity mixed in with strangers from other middle schools. No, graduating this time means they’re leaving for good—some of them will go live in different states where no one knows their names or how to be friends with them, and some will stay in town and they might hang out with the same people, but it won’t feel the same. It won’t feel the same because they won’t be walking to Spanish together or complaining about an English test. Brittany remembers what Quinn said in the bathroom, and she gets sad when she realizes that every time they hang out now, it will always be with a “Remember when…?”

(“Remember when we all used to hate each other?”

“Remember when we sang “Somebody to Love?”

“Remember that time at Rachel’s house when we all got drunk together and it didn’t matter that most of us couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeah. That was nice.”)

So Brittany sings and dances with Santana and creates more memories. Because if everything is going to turn into a “Remember when,” she at least wants to smile. She dances with Santana not because this song is just going to be a memory, but because it’s going to be a promise. She plans on dancing with Santana many, many more times.

And when everyone shows up to Glee even though they said they had better things to do, she thinks they’re all making promises, too. Because they’re singing about love and hugging each other, and who were they kidding, really?

Nobody has anything better to do than love.


	11. I Was Here

( _I gave my all, did my best, brought someone to happiness_ )

Santana shouldn’t be as nervous as she is. She’s competed on the national level before, three times with the Cheerios and once with Glee, so she gets competition. She loves it, actually. Loves the adrenaline, the pure rush of performing in front of hordes of screaming people. She thrives on the stage, feeding off of the energy of the crowd. It’s only when she doesn’t hear them responding that she gets unsure.

But she’s used to the scrutiny, so she shouldn’t be nervous about this at all. She’s fine until the day before and then Mercedes gets sick and she was kind of Santana’s crutch. Santana knows she’s got a great voice and she’s fine to carry “Edge of Glory,” but you always sound better when you sing with someone better. She always sounds better when they sing together. Santana may have a rockin’ voice, but she doesn’t have half the soul that Mercedes does. So she starts to get nervous.

Then things start to really unravel when they can’t figure out their dances. No one is listening to Brittany or Mike, Sugar is being a little instigator, and Rachel is over in a corner in a self-imposed timeout. Santana does what she does best when things get tense—she channels Sue Sylvester. Brittany has told her time and time again to tone it down, but Nationals is really important to her and fuck if she’s going to let anyone ruin it.

So she yells and it seems to snap Rachel out of her funk, and while Rachel is agreeing with Santana— _“though your methods and words are crude, you nonetheless have a valid point”_ —Santana is working on not punching anyone. Brittany runs a calming hand over her back and Santana breathes. She can do this. She can whip everyone into shape without resorting to physical violence.

“Who are you and what have you done with Santana Lopez?” Kurt deadpans. “Since when did you care so much about getting it right when it comes to Glee club?”

“Where did you escape from, a nineties sitcom?” Santana snaps back. “I’ve always cared about Glee club; I said that at the first Regionals but clearly no one listened. Right now I could give two shits about all of you since no one is doing anything right. So let’s just focus on _winning_ , shall we? Because I am excellent at that. Suck it up and deal.”

“No, I was applauding you, Santana; I wasn’t trying to put you down,” Kurt quickly clarifies. “I’m just surprised. I wish I’d seen this sooner.”

“That’s a great backhanded compliment, Babyface. You wanna grab Eyebrows the Bush Baby and sing ‘Perfect’ one more time?”

“While this tension is fantastically dramatic and I will definitely include it in the Oscar-winning movie based on my life, I don’t think—”

“Hey, Elphaba. Can it for a second.” Rachel looks surprised to have been interrupted, and Santana rolls her eyes. She can’t think of a single instance where she _wouldn’t_ interrupt Rachel Berry. “Look, your condescending leadership is _astounding_ , but it isn’t doing much to help us win. We need action. So, guys over with Mike, girls with Britt, and for the love of God, will someone give Sugar a Xanax? She’s about to pee all over everything.”

Santana is pleased when everyone follows her instructions. Brittany gives her an encouraging smile before drilling them on their routines. Quinn, unsurprisingly, has a lot of trouble with some of the moves. Brittany pulls her off to the side as Rachel helps Sugar with a couple of the harmonies. Santana wants to spend her time making sure Mercedes is okay, but Sue’s got that down. It would just be easier if she didn’t have to deal with thirteen neurotic choir kids. She’d love to hole herself up in a hotel room and wait on Wheezy, because fuck what everyone else thinks. Santana cares.

But she can’t because Nationals is important and Santana is crucial to their performance. So she stays and tries not to punch Rachel when she gives advice (which, Santana hates to admit, is actually useful), and she watches Brittany go through dance moves. She doesn’t even leer this time like she usually does. She just watches and perfects her steps.

And when they finally get it as good as it’s going to be at 11:30 that night, she doesn’t go to bed like the rest of them. She stays in the conference room and sings to herself, wishing she had a piano. She dances in the tiny space left when they pushed tables and chairs out of the way, and she breathes hard when she messes up. It’s tough to sing and dance at the same time and not lose the words. She forgets how she does it.

She stamps on her own feet more times than she cares to admit and she almost packs it in for the night. But she still has this need to prove herself, to show everyone that Glee is important to her. No one backed her up when Mr. Schue kicked her out and it still stings. She knows they give her more credit than being one of Sue’s moles, but she doesn’t think it’s much more. So Santana stays and practices until her feet and voice are raw.

“You need your sleep, you know. There is such a thing as overdoing it.”

Santana turns to see Rachel slumped against the doorway, arms crossed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Rachel smiles and enters the room, clasping her hands in front of her and swinging them. “I will admit that I can be…overzealous, but recent hardships have led me to reevaluate my attitude.”

“Can we stop with the thesaurus-speak? Why can’t you just say you royally screwed up your NYADA audition and it’s made you think about stuff?”

“I value eloquence,” Rachel answers. “I think you do too, just in a different way. One that involves intelligent yet caustic witticisms.”

Santana slaps a hand to her forehead. “Rachel, you’re going to give me another two headaches on top of the one I already have.”

Santana sits against the wall and tries not to grimace when Rachel follows suit. If she weren’t so tired, she’d shove her away.

“Why are you still practicing?” Rachel asks quietly.

“Why aren’t _you_?” Santana fires back. “You’re Rachel freakin’ Berry. This is what you do. This is our last chance to win Nationals.”

Rachel shrugs. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think there’s only so much we can do. You can put in the effort all you like, but at the end of the day you still have to wait and hope that you can pull it off on stage, that someone important will come to your performance, that your wedding will happen at the right time. There’s only so much control we have over things before they’re in someone else’s hands.”

Santana sighs and picks at her nails, preferring to look anywhere but at Rachel’s face. “I just…don’t want to walk away from this wondering if I could have done more. I really do want to win.”

“I know you do. I know you care, Santana.”

Santana scoffs. “You and Britt are probably the only ones.”

Rachel shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I think everyone understands that we all love being in Glee. Nobody thinks you’re here just because Sue made you. I mean, you must like us a little bit to keep coming back after three years.” Santana smiles in spite of herself. “We’ve all watched your transformation, and I know, how typical of Rachel Berry to focus on the drama—though it really was quite enthralling—and we know that you care and you have feelings. I just think they’re so used to hearing you voice them only when it comes time for dastardly deeds. Plus, tensions are a little high right now. Give all of us a little credit.”

“You’re a star. Do you think we’ll win? Do you honestly believe that?”

Rachel smiles and takes a moment, looking down. “I think that there probably isn’t a show choir in this hotel that has more heart than we do, and if we put all of it into performing, it won’t even be a question. Just an inevitability.”

Santana smiles and sighs, genuinely reassured. “Okay. I can dig that. Take me to bed then.” Rachel’s eyes bug out of her head. Santana rolls her. “Oh, jeez, Rachel. I didn’t mean it _that_ way. Just…get me out of this room before I regret this conversation.”

That part is easy enough. No one exits a room quite like Rachel Berry.

Santana sleeps well enough, considering how few hours she got, and she’s immensely reassured when Mercedes shows up rested and ready to perform. Nationals is a bigger ordeal than she remembers it being, with an actual dressing room and downtime backstage before they perform. Santana mills off to the side, watching Rachel swat Finn’s hands away as she applies her lipstick; watching Sam calm a jittery Mercedes; watching and smiling as Sugar meditates in the midst of everything.

She finds Quinn and Brittany and clasps their hands, partly because this is a big moment for all of them but mostly because she still needs reassurance. Quinn excuses herself to sit down, resting her legs before she has to use them to dance in a way that she probably shouldn’t, given how recent her accident was.

Brittany stays with Santana (like she always does) and smiles. She still hasn’t let go of Santana’s hand.

“You okay?” Brittany prompts.

“Yeah,” Santana says, nodding slowly. “Just nervous.”

“We’re gonna be awesome, San.”

“I know.”

“Especially you.”

Santana looks at her, smile gone and eyes serious. “You’re not just saying that, are you?”

“Well, I kind of have to since you’re my girlfriend, but no, I’m not just saying it. I think we’re gonna kick ass.”

“I want…” Santana falters; sometimes she’s still embarrassed about telling Brittany all of her silly fears and insecurities. “I want people to remember me,” she admits. “I want to be the one they talk about for a year or two. And not just here at Nationals, but at school, too. I want the freshman to break in new Cheerios next year and whine about how it’s just not the same without me as Captain. I want Mr. Schue to get new Glee kids that he doesn’t love as much as us because we were special first. I don’t want to leave high school like I didn’t make a difference.”

Brittany kisses her hand. “Close your eyes, Santana,” she instructs, and Santana obeys like she always will. “Think about how we performed at Regionals. How we were so great and we knew it, and how happy we were when we won. How we all hugged and smiled and we weren’t just a team right then—we were a family. We _are_ a family, Santana, and you don’t ever forget family. So just, focus on that feeling and magnify it by a zillion and feel it on stage. Go out there and perform and _make_ everyone remember you.”

So she does.

(They win).

Brittany, once again, is always right.


	12. Run the World (Girls)

( _endless power, with our love we can devour_ )

For the first time, when she walks into McKinley, Brittany doesn’t know what to do. She knows what she’s supposed to do—walk straight, turn right toward the choir room, try not to let the trophy take Artie down (because it’s kind of heavy). But there is a line of people watching them and it throws her off. They’re all holding slushie cups and Brittany’s heart sinks because all of them were feeling so good about winning and all they wanted to do was share it with everyone and now they’re going to feel like Glee losers again and this year was supposed to be perfect.

She kind of forgets to smile when it turns out to be even better than perfect. She’s so shocked that people are happy for them and with them that she doesn’t know what to do. But then she snaps out of it because Becky and Santana are giving each other a thumbs up, and if that doesn’t sum up senior year completely, Brittany doesn’t know what else could. So she smiles and hugs just about everyone, and then tanned fingers find hers and she latches onto them hard.

“Hey,” Santana says, smiling. “Can you believe this?”

Brittany flicks a piece of confetti out of her eye. “This is totally awesome.” She gives Santana’s hand a squeeze and starts to drag her to the choir room, but Santana isn’t moving. She stands still until Brittany turns around.

There is a mischievous twinkle in her eye and Brittany grins because this is the twinkle that Santana gets when she’s about to be super adorable. “Remember how I told you about that really awesome day where I’d just be so proud and I’d want to kiss you in front of everyone?”

Brittany widens her smile, too excited to do anything else.

“So come here,” Santana continues, and she pulls Brittany close to her, resting a strong hand on the small of her back. “Hi,” she whispers, and then she guides Brittany into a dip and kisses her, and it’s just like that picture of the soldier in World War II, and Brittany thinks that maybe she shouldn’t be comparing them to something that serious but they sort of have just won a war and also Santana’s lips make everything seem extraordinary. She wraps an arm around Santana’s neck and kisses her back. It’s a kiss that says a lot of things, things like _welcome home_ and _I love you_ and _I know you_ and _let’s do this for the rest of our lives_. Santana kisses her like the world is waiting, like nothing else is going to happen until they stop kissing, and Brittany believes her. She doesn’t hear anyone else and she definitely forgets where they are because all she can feel is Santana. All she can taste and smell and hear is Santana. Her senior year begins and ends with Santana, and Brittany thinks that might be the shining moment of her high school career. Of her life, too, but they have a lot of time to get to that.

“You’re such a goof,” she says when they pull away.

Santana wipes wetness away from Brittany’s eyes. “Happy tears, right?”

Brittany nods. “The happiest.”

Brittany reaches up once more to kiss Santana just because she can, and then she stands up and leads her to the choir room. They’re the last ones to arrive and everyone cheers when they walk in. Rachel hands them each a cup of sparkling cider that Brittany discovers is actually champagne, which she’s pretty sure Mr. Schue didn’t know about, much less approve.

But they drink it all anyway and make a mess of the room and Mr. Schue doesn’t even care when he walks in to find sticky puddles of celebration coating the floor. He grabs a cup, takes a sip, and confiscates the other bottle when he realizes they’ve already polished off the first one. Everyone groans but no one really means it.

“Come on, you didn’t think I’d let you get away with actual champagne on school grounds, did you?” Nobody tells him that they already sort of did. He motions with his head for them to follow and starts to walk out of the room. “Follow me; there’s something we need to do.”

They groan again but they follow him anyway because he’s Mr. Schue and even though he isn’t fearless, he’s still their leader. Brittany grabs Santana’s hand and then Quinn is there on her other side and they’re all smiling. Wet, covered in champagne, and smiling.

Mr. Schue leads them to the auditorium and turns on the lights with a big click. They all race to the stage, laughing and pushing each other playfully.

“Circle up, guys,” Mr. Schue instructs. They sit in a lopsided oval; some couples are bunched together and holding hands while other mini-cliques scoot near each other. Brittany, like everyone else, trains a focused eye on Mr. Schue, waiting for his speech. Because he always has a speech.

“I am so, so proud of all of you,” he starts. Half of the circle looks down at their laps, hiding blushing grins. “We’ve come really far since the first year. I know we’ve had our share of drama”—he pauses to join in with the knowing chuckles—“but when it comes down to it, we work really well together. I look at how much each of you has grown, and I realize I couldn’t be happier to call any group of people my family. I want you to think about the last time we were all sitting on this stage, when I asked you what you were most looking forward to. I know those things are still in the future for most of you, but think about this year, about everything that you’ve accomplished. If I asked you to tell me what you’re most proud of, what would it be?”

He looks to his right. Sam smiles and looks at Mercedes for just a moment before answering. “Getting the girl,” he says sweetly.

“Believing that I’m special,” Mercedes adds.

“I’m proud of _West Side Story_ ,” Artie says.

“I’m proud that my dad paid for our awesome hotel rooms.” Sugar looks at fourteen pairs of raised eyebrows. “What? Somebody had to.”

Puck, for once, isn’t sheepish or lewd. “Getting a second chance with Beth.”

“Getting engaged,” Finn says, smiling at Rachel. Brittany notices that she doesn’t totally smile back.

“I still can’t believe I got into Yale,” Quinn laughs.

Santana clears her throat before she speaks.  “I’m proud of myself for finally being totally honest.”

“Santana,” Brittany says.

“What?” Santana prompts.

“No, that’s what I’m most proud of,” she clarifies. “Santana.”

Blaine shakes his head before speaking, probably to clear away the tears. “I’m proud of how my relationships have grown.” Brittany can’t hold back a tiny laugh; he’s always so cheesy and earnest.

Mike smiles. “I’m proud that I finally got my dad to realize that dancing isn’t just a dream for me.”

Tina shrugs. “I got my song.”

“I’m proud of my dad,” Kurt says.

Rachel’s eyes are watery as she takes a deep breath. “I’m proud of the friendships I’ve cultivated and how I’m starting to learn what it means to be an adult.”

Rory laughs and looks down. “Honestly, all of you are so special and I’m proud I got to know you. I’m proud I got to be a part of this club.”

There are sheepish laughs and a lot of shoulder-shoving as everyone basks in the corny moment. (It would feel a lot cornier if it didn’t also feel so special.) They might joke about how Glee is all about feelings and drama, but the truth is, they do care and it is important. And this is a big moment, winning Nationals and acknowledging how much they’ve changed, all of them for the better. Brittany is especially loving this moment because it’s all about feelings and everyone is feeling the same thing—mostly happiness with just a hint of shattered dreams; a sense of accomplishment and pride marred by the knowledge that it’s over; soaring triumph balanced by an ache to go back to the beginning and do it all over again, even if it means they have to lose a lot along the way. Brittany is so happy that she thinks she might be sad, and she kind of loves it.

She takes Santana’s hand and watches everyone else. They’re joking, having fallen into familiar roles and conversations. They tease each other about the usual things—hair, clothes, the inability to tone it down. It’s a nice moment, Brittany thinks. That for once they get to be just friends and no one is making a big deal out of it. They’re on the stage, which is kind of like their home-away-from-home, and this is where they’re all equals. On this stage, they all always have one goal: to be the best, to sing and sound good, to help each other win. This is where they’re all a family, even if they fight.

Mr. Schue clears his throat and the chatter dies down; laughs peter out and eyes become serious again because their teacher is about to say something important, and important things are often sad ones.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you what I’m most proud of,” he says. “If there’s one thing I’m proud of, that gives me the most joy as a teacher, it’s all of you. I am unbelievably proud of you guys.”

“You kind of already said that, Mr. Schue,” Finn points out.

Mr. Schue laughs. “Yeah, I know. But I don’t just mean New Directions. I’m proud of all of you as people.” He looks at Sam and smiles. “Sam, I’m proud of you for coming back and helping us win Sectionals.” Mr. Schue makes his way down the line, looking every one of them in the eye. “I’m proud of you, Mercedes, for your leadership. Artie, I am still so impressed with the musical and your director’s eye. I don’t think anyone will top it. Sugar…” Mr. Schue pauses and spreads his hands. “Well, I don’t know where we’d be without your constant enthusiasm. Puck, I’m proud of you for finding your ambition. I’m proud of the man you’ve become, Finn. I’m proud of your loyalty to everyone on this stage. And you, Quinn—I’m proud of how strong you are, in spite of everything you went through this year. Santana, I want to thank you for how much you’ve shared with us this year. I’m proud to be someone you trust. Madame President”—he tips his head and Brittany smiles—“I’m proud of your creativity. I’m proud of how you fit with us, Blaine. You’ve made us a better club. Mike, I’m proud of how much you’ve flourished this year, and I can’t wait to see you do the same next year, Tina. I’m proud of your convictions, Kurt, and how they never waver.” His already watery eyes glisten even more as he looks at Rachel. Brittany probably should be bothered by his favoritism, but it’s not like it’s anything new. At least he’s consistent.

“Rachel, I am immensely proud of your belief in our club. You truly are our heart, and I don’t think we would have made it this far without you. And Rory, thank you for bringing a fresh perspective to our club this year. To my juniors”—he smiles warmly at Artie, Tina, and Blaine—“I look forward to more success with you next year. And to my seniors, thank you for making Glee so special. I wish I could do these past three years all over again.”

“Jeez, give us back that champagne, Mr. Schue. We need a lot of wine to go with all that cheese,” Santana teases. Brittany nudges her shoulder and shushes her with a quiet “Be nice.”

Santana rolls her eyes. “Oh, alright. I’m just teasing,” she giggles. “You guys are all pretty great.”

Mr. Schue laughs with her. “Thank you, Santana. And on that note, how many of you are a little drunk right now?” Fourteen hands go up immediately. “That’s what I thought. Which means we’re hijacking one of the school buses and taking a trip to my house to sober you all up.” He flinches under the ensuing barrage of protests.

(“Your house smells like pencils.”

“Your couches suck.”

“Unless you’ve stocked your fridge with Perrier like I suggested last time, I really can’t agree to this. Regular tap water is hell on my vocal chords.”

 _“Shut up, Rachel.”_ )

But they go anyway and they laugh when Mr. Schue is forced to park blocks away from his place because there isn’t any room on his street. And they all order pizza and play cards and it’s so lame. Of course it’s lame because it’s Mr. Schue’s house and he’s, like, the lamest person ever, which also makes him awesome. Mrs. Pillsbury comes home and it’s weird to actually see her and Mr. Schue together outside of school, but it’s nice. It kind of feels like a real family, like the weird aunt and uncle and all the black-sheep cousins.

They stay far too late because no one wants to leave, and Brittany tries to hide Santana when she falls asleep. She knows that as soon as Mr. Schue sees someone sleeping, the party is over. She tries not to blush when Rachel happy-frowns at Santana cuddled against Brittany’s side. Brittany does giggle, though; Rachel looks like a Muppet. And she feels a rush of gratitude when Quinn and Mercedes catch sight of Santana and distract Mr. Schue. Brittany knows nobody else wants to leave, either.

She likes knowing things about people, and the more she watches them, the more she knows. She watches Mike and Tina and she knows that they’re forever like she and Santana are. She watches Quinn and she knows that there is so much in that girl that she hasn’t even discovered yet. Quinn is going to be big; Brittany knows that. And she knows that Rachel will completely blow the doors off McKinley. She’s going to be a star, and when she comes back to visit Ohio for whatever reunion, she’ll be a supernova. Like, she’ll just walk through the doors and explode, and all anyone will be able to do is stand around and gaze in awe. And they’ll be really jealous, because why does Rachel Berry, of all people, get to be so special?

(The more Brittany thinks about it, the more she figures that Rachel probably asks herself that very same question. Only sometimes it’s “Why do I _have_ to be so special?” Sometimes being special is lonely.)

And when Brittany looks at Santana—when she watches her eyelids flutter gracefully while she sleeps; when she watches her hair fall against her cheek in an elegant arc; when she wonders what Santana’s dreaming about (because she is dreaming; her smile gives that away), if it’s about flying mice or show choir competitions or adorable blond-haired toddlers that Santana only lets herself think about in dreams because dreams never let you down—she knows that this is only the beginning. That all of them are going to leave Ohio and make something of themselves, even if Sam’s something isn’t as big as Rachel’s or Kurt’s.

Brittany knows that she’ll follow Santana anywhere—to New York and back, to California and back, to the moon and back—and they’ll make everything together. They’re going to be people that everyone wants to know, that everyone is _proud_ to know. She and Santana are going to do stupid things and scary things and spectacular things and all of them are going to matter.

So she wakes Santana up at half-past one and kisses her hair when Santana buries her head in Brittany’s neck, embarrassed at all the aww’s from the Glee kids (and Mrs. Pillsbury, Brittany is pretty sure). And she cries when they all file out of the door and so does everyone else, because this is really the end of the year. They still have a week of classes left and then it’s eight days to graduation after that, but this is the end of everything because this is the end of Glee. Because high school was all about Glee, and they don’t have anything to work up to anymore. There are no more competitions, no more school assemblies, no more songs.

Mr. Schue drives the bus back to school in silence and they all pile into their cars, quiet and sober and happy. Fulfilled. Brittany wipes a tear away and doesn’t look at Santana, whom she knows is crying too and doesn’t want to show it. Instead, she lets the tears fall and thinks about the good times, and she finds herself clutching her stomach and laughing hysterically.

“Britt, what are you doing?” Santana blurts. Her lips are already turning up, forming a laugh against her will. They quiver as she tries to push it back down. “Why are you laughing? This is not a funny moment!” Santana’s smile betrays her and she lets out a reluctant giggle of her own.

“I’m sorry, San,” Brittany says, still laughing. “It’s just—I’m so _sad_! I’m so sad and it’s hilarious because I’m happy at the same time, and I guess this is what happens when I feel like that.”

“Well, stop it,” Santana chuckles. “It’s kind of freaking me out. And give me some of your happy; I’m just sad.”

Brittany calms down and stops laughing, finally focusing on Santana. Her eyes are puffy and her cheeks red, and Brittany can tell that she still hasn’t cried enough. “Why are you sad, Santana?”

“I dunno, because it’s over,” she sniffles. “I’m really going to miss everyone and it’ll be weird not being in the choir room every day.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m gonna miss it, too.” Santana looks at her, her eyes pleading, begging for Brittany to say something that will make it all better. “You want some of my happy?” Santana nods. “Okay, well, this is how I look at it. In a few days we won’t be New Directions anymore, and that is super sad. Like, we won’t be the _real_ New Directions, the New Directions that’s a whole group. But we’ll all kind of be tiny pieces of it because we’re all going off to different places, and they’re new and all over the country. And so we’ll still be New Directions even when Rachel’s in New York with Kurt and Mercedes is in California and Quinn is wherever Yale is. And then when everyone comes back for a visit, we’ll be real again and nobody will need to be sad.”

“Britt…” Santana’s voice is thick and low, like someone dragged it through every emotion in the world and ended on the place where disbelief and love intersect.

“Did that help?”

“Yes,” Santana whispers. She clears her throat. “So where do you see us? Which _new direction_ are we going in?” she asks, smiling at her terrible pun.

Brittany shrugs. “I dunno, where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere,” Santana answers. “Everywhere.”

Brittany leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. “That sounds nice. Let’s go there.” 


End file.
